


I'll Have The Usual

by skyestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Supernatural, Anal Sex, Angst, Bullying, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Lawyer Sam Winchester, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Violence, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2014-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 88,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyestiel/pseuds/skyestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Castiel grows desperate to help pay for his college tuition, he decides to work at the local coffee shop. The owner, Gabriel, eagerly accepts him as a new employee, and allows him to start working the very next day. Everything seems perfectly normal, if not boring, until an incredibly attractive mystery man walks in and makes one simple request: "I'll have the usual."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I'll Have The Usual

**Author's Note:**

> (I'll be going back through this fic for the next couple days to fix any last mistakes, so keep that in mind. Thanks!)
> 
> You can find this (without the editing) on my [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual)!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This chapter has been edited_

Okay so  _maybe_ choosing to work at a coffee shop wasn’t the best idea for a guy who loved coffee as much as Castiel. It had made sense to apply for the job considering his love for the rich, warm drink, but now he was beginning to think it was really just a way for him to torture himself. The enticing aroma filled the little shop, silently begging him to keep one cup of coffee all to himself. But, as his boss, Gabe, had emphasized, “the coffee’s for the customers, buddy, anything you drink is coming out of  _your_  paycheck."

Castiel didn’t have much money so he couldn’t afford to pick up a pot of the liquid heaven and gulp it down. No matter how tempting it may be, it was his first day and getting caught breaking the rules that quickly certainly wouldn't end well. 

He stood leaning up against the counter, his eyes scanning the empty room in hopes that someone would finally walk in. His shift had begun at the ungodly hour of six in the morning, and he had been left to aimlessly pace behind the counter for the past hour.  _Well, this is going to be so much fun,_ Cas thought with a snort.

A small  _ding_ suddenly broke the silence, indicating that someone had walked in. Cas jumped a little, quickly straightening up and running his hands over the front of his shirt to smooth out the wrinkles. He was supposed to look presentable after all. 

When Cas glanced up to see who had just saved him from his boredom, he let out a surprised gasp. It was a good thing he had tried to change his zombie-like appearance. The guy who had walked in was  _hot._

Alright, so Castiel wasn’t one to openly stare at someone or ogle them. In fact, the few friends he had always teased him for being shy, unaware of the fact that he was nervous around women because he had a feeling that he wasn’t completely straight. 

The man was a few inches taller than Cas with short, golden brown hair and piercing green eyes. He had broad shoulders and the confident stride of someone who was used to being acknowledged for his appearance. As Castiel was unashamedly doing right now.

He approached the counter, his emerald eyes glancing around the room before coming to rest on the thin, anxious-looking boy watching him. His lips turned up into a crooked smirk, his demeanor resembling that of a predator stalking its defenseless prey.

Castiel swallowed nervously, averting his gaze away from the male model sauntering his way over to take his order. As the man continued to focus his attention solely on him, Cas began to wonder when the room had gotten to be so unbearably hot.

"Hey there… Castiel," the man began, his deep, gravelly voice sending excited shivers up Cas’s spine as he read from his name tag, “I’ll have the usual."

Cas blinked. “I’m sorry, I don’t know-"

"Oh, that’s right," he chuckled, “you’re new. I’ll just take a venti Americano, please. You know, the good stuff."

Castiel laughed weakly, finally chancing a glance at the other man. At this proximity, he could make out the array of freckles dotting his nose and the soft skin of his cheeks below each of his eyes. He had the biggest damn grin on his face, and when their eyes met, he fucking  _winked_ at him.  _Oh shit._

"Oh yeah," he replied, his voice becoming embarrassingly high pitched, “the Americano is a classic. It’s my favorite because it keeps the coffee’s rich flavor. The milk or cream added to the other drinks always masks the flavor, in my opinion."

The man tilted his head to the side and rested his hands on the counter. “Wow, they need more guys like you working here. You seem like you know your coffee."

Cas's cheeks reddened. He felt the sudden irrational urge to throw himself across the counter and kiss the hell out of the guy, to twist his fingers in the short hairs at the back of his head and run his tongue across the soft flesh of his lower lip. He smiled and nodded before quickly turning on his heels, anxious to start brewing the green-eyed man’s drink to distract himself.

The heavenly scent of brewing coffee filled the air, effectively drawing Castiel’s attention away from the temptation leaning up against the counter only a few feet away. He breathed in the intoxicating aroma, pushing all of his crazy fantasies to the back of his mind.

A couple minutes later, the little red light on the machine began flashing. Cas inhaled once more before opening his eyes and pouring the dark liquid into a cup. He turned back to face his waiting customer, blue eyes meeting expectant emerald eyes. The man grinned and straightened up.

"Smells good," he called, watching Cas as he made his way over with the steaming cup in his hands.

"Mhm," Cas mumbled in agreement, setting the warm drink on the counter, and entered the order into the cash register. He purposely avoided looking at the other man, knowing full well that one more glance would just add fuel to his surprisingly creative imagination.

"$3.30," Castiel announced, reaching out to grab the money from the man’s grasp. As he gripped the bills, his fingers brushed against the customer's calloused ones. His eyes widened, flinching and pulling the money away from the man’s grip as if he had been shocked.

They locked eyes for a split second before looking away. Cas quickly gathered the his change and set it down on the counter, worried about what would happen if their skin accidentally touched again.

"Have a nice-"

"Hold up," the man interrupted, reaching into his jacket pocket and pulling out a small card, “if you ever need a lawyer, you know who to call. Or if you just ever want someone to talk to. Here."

He laid the card down on the counter and flashed Cas another dazzling grin. “Bye, Cas," he purred, dropping all of the change into the Tip jar before turning and strutting out the door.

Castiel’s jaw dropped, warmth pooling in the pit of his stomach and spreading throughout his body. He had given him a nickname.  _Cas_. When he finally regained the ability to move, Castiel picked up the card and skimmed over the information.

"Winchester & Winchester Ltd. Dean Winchester." A phone number and address were also neatly displayed at the bottom of the card.

"Dean," Cas muttered, liking the way the name sounded as it passed across his lips. An image of he and Dean sitting down at one of the tables in the shop, talking animatedly and drinking two perfectly prepared Americanos flashed before his eyes. He could just imagine the way Dean’s lips would look as they pressed to the rim of his cup, the warm liquid gliding down his throat…

"Hey, buddy," Gabe trilled, his excited voice pulling Cas out of his trance, “looks like you met one of our regulars!"

Castiel just nodded his head, turning his head away in an attempt to hide the pink flush on his cheeks.

"Oh geez," the shorter man sighed, rolling his eyes, "you're already in love with the guy, I can tell. That always seems to happen to my newbies."

Cas's head jerked up, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. "Was it really that obvious?" he asked softly, chancing a glance at his boss.

"It's okay," Gabe chuckled, patting him on the back, "he was the one hitting on you. Besides, you should be proud."

He leaned in close, ignoring the confused expression on Castiel's face as he whispered in his ear, "you're the only one who's managed to get his card and an invitation."

 


	2. Just A Shirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's attempts to woo Dean seem to fall a little flat...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come chill with me on [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual)
> 
>  _This chapter has been edited_.

_He’s out of your league, he’s out of your league,_ Castiel’s mind chanted, the same sentence playing on a loop in his head. It was the only thing he could think of to convince himself that it was true.

It had been three days since Dean had first walked into the coffee shop with his bright green eyes and mischevious smirk. But every day since that first meeting, Dean had been fairly standoffish, surprising Cas considering the way he had flirted with him when they first met. He had still been nice, that’s for sure, but it was really just standard customer behavior. No intense stares, no winks, no flirtatious grins-  _nothing._

The whole thing was making Castiel incredibly nervous, and Gabe’s comments certainly didn’t make him feel any better.

"A guy like him?" he’d chuckled, “He probably just found some smoking hot super model to date."

Cas had flinched, shielding his face to keep his boss from seeing how much his words had stung. Although he was probably right, it still hurt to think of some tall, gorgeous blonde tucked against Dean’s side, her stupid lips pressed to his and her dainty hands cupping his face. The likelihood of such a thing made him sick.

But today was going to be different. He didn’t understand Dean’s change of heart, but he had taken the time to give him his card, which seemed to be a pretty big deal according to Gabe. Had he done something wrong? Or had Dean just realized that an awkward, gangly college sophomore wasn’t good enough for him?

The time was coming for Dean to come in and pick up his Americano, and the only thing Castiel could think about was what he would say to him. Gabe had suggested that he try flirting with him when he came in, advice that had seemed ridiculous at first but was beginning to make sense the more he  thought about it. As crazy as it might sound, maybe Dean felt that he wasn’t interested. He hadn’t really made an attempt to express his attraction, his anxiety keeping him from exuding any confidence or desire. Dean, on the other hand, appeared to be more confident than anyone Castiel had ever encountered.

Suddenly, the sharp  _ding_  of the bell hanging above the front door interrupted his thoughts. This would be the fourth time he’d seen Dean, but it still felt as if it were the first. It was hard to get over just how stunningly handsome the man was, dressed in his intimidating jet black suit with his short golden brown hair styled just the right way. And there was his smile. That fucking lop-sided grin that sent excited shivers down his spine.

"Hey, Cas," he called, striding over and setting his new leather briefcase down before casually propping himself against the counter, “I’ll have the usual."

All of Castiel’s brilliant plans to woo Dean now seemed impossible as he came face to face with the man in question. The slope of his nose, the glint in his green eyes, the little freckle right below his left eye. Every detail was overwhelming, leaving him almost breathless as he soaked it all in. 

“You got it," he replied weakly, his plan to appear confident falling flat. It had sounded so much easier in his head.

He stood patiently in front of the coffee machine, finding it difficult to remain calm as he felt Dean’s gaze boring into the back of his head. The silence in the coffee shop felt ominous, as if the universe was just waiting for him to slip up and make a mistake.

The red light began flashing, the delicious smell of fresh brewed coffee offering him a little comfort.  _He could do this, he could show Dean just how much he wanted him._

He poured the rich, dark liquid into one of the venti cups and turned to bring Dean his drink. As he turned, he couldn’t help but notice that the man seemed to have been staring at his ass while his back was turned, quickly averting his gaze to avoid being caught redhanded. He swallowed, feeling a sudden flood of nervous energy at the thought of Dean checking him out.

His skin felt like it was on fire, tendrils of warmth creeping up his spine and spreading across his face in what he assumed to be an unattractive flush. He began to step forward, time seeming to stand still as it watched his every move. And if time really did witness what happened next than it was one cruel son of a bitch.

Somewhere between the moment he had lifted his foot and the moment it touched the floor, the ground must have shifted beneath him. He could only assume that there had been a slippery spot on the floor that he had failed to notice, and he sure as hell wished he had. His body tumbled over, leaving him lying flat on the ground with a coffee-saturated shirt and a throbbing pain in the back of his skull.

The world seemed to be spinning around him, his chest burning from the steaming coffee seeping through his clothes. Everything hurt, and the only thing he could think of was the fact that Dean must be laughing his ass off right now.

Although his vision was slightly blurred from the force of the fall, he could make out someone’s worried gaze peering down at him. It took him a few seconds to realize that the concerned man was none other than Dean.

“Oh my God, Cas," he cried, reaching down and grabbing a hold of Castiel's arms to help pull him up, “are you okay, man?"

Castiel blinked, still too delirious to react to the way Dean allowed him to lean all of his weight against his sturdy figure. He was, however, completely aware of the comforting warmth his body provided and the way his arm wrapped securely around his waist.

"Yeah," he slurred, “jus’ tripped."

Dean chuckled, the deep, hearty sound raising goosebumps on his skin. He could feel the resulting vibrations where their sides touched, his firm muscles pressed against Castiel’s softer skin.

"I can see that," he laughed, dragging Cas along beside him, “let’s get you a new shirt. You can just have this one, and I’ll run home and grab another one before heading off to work."

Castiel’s eyes widened, almost losing his footing again. “Dean, you don’t have to-"

"No," he interjected, tightening his hold on Cas’s waist as they approached the bathroom, “it’s not a big deal. My house is only a few minutes away, I’ll be fine. Besides, the only person that could fire me is my brother and he wouldn’t dare."

He was going to be wearing Dean’s shirt.  _Dean’s shirt._

The bathroom was empty when they walked in, something Cas found to be both relieving and terrifying at the same time. Being alone with a shirtless Dean, even if only for a minute or two, made his heart pound excitedly in his chest.

Dean carefully propped him against the wall of one of the stalls, giving him a playful squeeze before pulling his arm away. He took a couple steps back, shrugging off his suit jacket and slinging it over the nearest stall door. His hand then moved to the front of his shirt, fingers slowly undoing each button, exposing more and more of his unsurprisingly toned chest.

The entire time, Castiel sat silently watching each movement. To any outside observer, it would look as if Dean were stripping for him. The thought was making him embarassingly hard, his hands quickly moving to try and cover up the tent forming at the front of his pants. He couldn’t help it. The graceful way Dean’s fingers undid each button made him wonder what it would feel like to have them wrapped around his-  _dear God, he needed to stop._

Dean finally reached the last button, Castiel practically drooling as he continued to watch him undress. He carefully pulled each arm out of its sleeve, his abdominal muscles shifting as he lifted his arms. Cas licked his lips, the man’s exposed torso meeting all of his unspoken expectations. He had only dreamed of having Dean’s bare chest inches away, close enough to reach out and touch.

The half-naked man now held the discarded shirt in his arms, his emerald eyes meeting those of the entranced boy leaning against the stall wall. When their gazes locked, the son of a bitch had the nerve to smile in that mischievous, predatory way that caused Castiel’s head to spin.

Without even asking for permission first, he moved his hands down to the bottom of Cas’s ruined shirt. As he began to lift it, he continued to stare intently into Castiel's eyes. His breath caught in his throat, the warmth of Dean’s breath against his lips leaving him completely speechless. Their noses were only mere centimeters apart, nearly brushing as Dean leaned closer to get a better grip on the edge of his shirt.

Everything else around them seemed to disappear, not nearly as important as the couple of inches that lie between their bodies. Castiel’s world had become Dean, from the deep exhales tickling his skin to the brush of fingertips against the sensitive skin of his sides to the glinting green irises being gradually eclipsed by dilating pupils.  _Dean, Dean, Dean._

And then, as quickly as it had begun, it was over. Dean was leaning back to pull the shirt over his head, quickly taking a step back to pull the coffee-stained shirt on. Cas hadn’t moved an inch, his naked back pressed against the cool metal wall as he watched the other man grab his button-down shirt and hold it out in his direction.

"Left arm first," Dean rasped, his eyes lingering on the trail of ebony hair leading toward the waistband of Cas’s pants. The younger man did as he was told, eagerly obeying each of Dean’s commands. He could feel the way the other man’s eyes skimmed over every inch of his exposed chest, taking his time to carefully do each button, lingering on the bottom one right above the crotch of his pants. If the way Dean continued to check him out wasn’t hot enough, the way his fingers occasionally brushed against his skin was the icing on the cake.

Once finished, Dean pulled away, turning his back to Castiel as he threw on his suit jacket. Cas felt frozen in place, incredibly and shamefully horny as he kept his focus on the peaks of Dean’s shoulder blades visible through the thin fabric of his ruined shirt. And it only got worse the moment he remembered who’s shirt he was now wearing.

"Alright, well," Dean sighed, turning back to face Cas, “I’m gonna go talk to that weird boss of your’s and tell him what happened. I’ll pay for that coffee, and I sure as hell won’t let him fire you."

The conviction in his voice made Castiel want to jump him right there, in an empty men's bathroom, forgetting every ounce of fear from earlier. He managed to nod his head in response, still unable to open his damn mouth and speak.

Dean then did the unthinkable. He leaned in, pressing his lips to the tender skin of Cas's temple. His lips were warm and deliciously soft, Castiel’s eyes fluttering closed as they came into contact with his skin. The moment was very brief, their absence leaving Cas feeling hollow inside. He knew those fucking lips would feel like perfection.

Flashing one more of his cocky smirks, Dean gave him one final look before leaving the room. Castiel wasn’t sure how long he stayed in that position, watching the door as if he expected Dean to return. If it weren’t for Gabe coming in to retrieve him a few minutes later, a triumphant grin on his face, he probably would’ve just spent the night there in the bathroom.

He would’ve spent the night in  _Dean’s shirt._

 


	3. Save It For A Rainy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where it rains and Dean remains a mystery ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's chat on [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual), okay?
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

The day Castiel finally gets that phone call he has secretly been waiting for is the kind of rainy day that tempts you to do absolutely nothing. It’s the kind of blissfully lazy day that beckons you to curl up in front of the television and watch movies, with a warm blanket draped over your legs and a small bowl of delicious, buttery popcorn seated in your lap. Cas absolutely loved rainy days like this, from the sound of droplets hitting his window to the gentle swaying of the tree branches below. And, to top things off, it was a Thursday, the day he didn’t have to go into work. There wasn’t a single thing that could keep him from just staying in his dorm room, watching science fiction movies all day- his guilty pleasure.

But all of his plans changed the moment his phone rang, the sudden sound of “I Will Wait" by Mumford & Sons practically giving him a heart attack.  _Dean._  No, he hadn’t assigned that ringtone to him for any particular reason, never.

He still was struggling to accept the fact Dean had his number in the first place. It had been a positively surreal moment, one he would’ve thought to be a figment of his imagination if not for the fact he’d pinched himself and felt a very real zip of pain travel up his arm.

It happened three days ago, a little over a week since Castiel had started his job at the little coffee shop. Dean had just been getting ready to leave, coffee in hand, when he suddenly froze.

"Wait," he cried, reaching into his pocket and pulling out one of his business cards and a pen, “before I leave…"

He set the card down on the counter and held out a pen in Cas’s direction, staring at him with those piercing emerald eyes and that damn smirk on his face.

"I know this is going to seem a little forward," he muttered, his voice shaking a little as if he were actually nervous, “but I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind giving me your number?"

Castiel’s jaw dropped.  _What?_

"You know, in case you’re not working, and I need you to come fix my drink because one of the other guys fucked it up," Dean finished quickly, his face beginning to flush red.

Dean was getting flustered over him? Cas felt as if he were going to faint, the thought of the other man being able to call him making him much too anxious. What would he save his number under? Castiel? Cas? Or just “that guy from the coffee shop"?

He chuckled weakly and reached for the pen, relishing in the brief contact with Dean’s calloused fingers. Quickly, he scribbled down his cell phone number, thanking God that his shaky fingers didn’t keep him from writing. The entire time, he could feel the other man watching him with his mischievous smile and his curious stare.

"Here you go," Cas replied weakly, holding out the card with the most convincingly calm facial expression he could muster.

"Thanks," he chuckled softly, taking the piece of paper and slipping it back into his pocket, “I’ll see you then, Cas."

Dean’s eyes scanned over Castiel one more time, lingering on his face, before he turned and left. Cas couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t  _breathe_. That was the moment he’d pinched himself, ignoring the way Gabe rolled his eyes as he passed by.

And now it was finally happening.  _The_ phone call. 

Castiel stared down at the phone as if it were a venomous snake preparing to strike. If he could make it through this phone call without vomiting, he deserved a medal or something. 

Hesitantly, he picked up the offending object and slid his finger across the screen to answer the call. “Hello?" 

"Hey, Cas," Dean’s deep, husky voice answered, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything."

"No!" Cas cried all too quickly, cheeks burning with embarrassment when he realized just how he must’ve sounded, “um no. I’m just sitting around my dorm room. Listening to the rain."

Dean chuckled softly, sending an excited shiver up Castiel’s spine. It was pathetic, really, how just a laugh could make his knees weak.

"You’re one of those guys who likes listening to storms," Dean replied, an almost affectionate tone to his voice, “I’m actually not that surprised. Well, I hate to keep you from enjoying mother nature alone in your room  _but_  it just so happens I’m at the cafe right now, ready to head to the bathroom so I can pour this sad excuse for an Americano down the toilet."

Cas smiled, imagining Dean standing over the toilet as he muttered insults about the bastard who had served him sludge instead of coffee.  

"Of course," he laughed weakly, running his hands nervously through his ruffled hair, “I am the only guy working there that knows how to make a decent cup of coffee after all. Do you want me to come down and make you something that’s actually edible?"

"Well," Dean drawled, “if you wouldn’t mind. You seem pretty busy."

"Oh yes,  _very_ busy," he replied sarcastically, his smile growing wider with each word that escaped the other man’s mouth, “but I think I can spare a few minutes to come whip you up a real Americano."

"Well, it looks like I’m in luck! I’m  _so_  sorry for interrupting your busy day, but I’m sure I’ll figure out some way to make it up to you. I’ll see you in a few," he trilled before finishing softly, “bye, Cas."

And then just like that it was over. His first phone conversation with Dean Winchester. The only phone conversation capable of killing him and he had actually survived. Oh yeah, he deserved that medal alright. 

The next few minutes left Castiel’s dorm room looking like it had been hit by an atom bomb. Clothes were strewn haphazardly across the room, falling back to earth after being caught up in the chaotic tornado that was an anxious Cas. Jeans covered his floor, shirts were draped over his desk, a single shoe sat lonely on top of his television set. It was the pure definition of the word “mess".

In the middle of it all, Castiel stood staring at his clothed figure in the mirror. He had chosen his favorite pair of jeans, snug in just the right places but not unbearably tight. He had decided to pair it with a simple blue-gray cotton shirt, the one he wore the most because it was comfortable, loose-fitting, and matched the color of his eyes (or at least that’s what a girl in his class had once told him). He had also decided to leave his hair the way it was, recalling a comment he’d heard one of the football players make about girls loving the “just crawled out of bed" look. Of course, Dean wasn’t a girl…

He was going to be late if he kept analyzing every little detail like that. Dean was probably sitting alone, staring anxiously at the door and thinking of all of the different places he’d rather be. He probably was wondering why he had agreed to meet up with a waste of time like Cas.

Castiel threw open the door and quickly stepped through, slamming it shut in his haste to leave. This was his chance, maybe his  _only_ chance to show Dean Winchester how he really felt, and there was no way he was going to let himself fuck up a golden opportunity like that. 

Three flights of stairs and two blocks of sidewalk was all that separated he and Dean. And Cas had never run faster in his entire life.

 

* * *

 

There weren’t many people Castiel would run through the rain for. He loved this weather, sure, but he certainly wasn’t much of a runner. By the time he reached the coffee shop, dripping wet and slick with both rain and sweat, he felt as if he might pass out from the exertion. Running that distance at a dead sprint wasn’t an easy task.

He stood in the doorway, scanning the room for Dean’s well-dressed figure. The coffee shop was usually quiet at this time of day, but on a day like today, it looked like a ghost town. Not many people enjoyed going out in the rain.         
                                          
Sitting quietly at a table near the back of the shop was the reason for all of Castiel’s anxiety. He was staring out the nearest window, a small smile on his face. From this angle, Cas was given a fantastic view of the man’s profile. He could make out the strong line of his jaw, the individual hairs of his long eyelashes, the little crinkles at the corner of his upturned lips. It was as if his face had been sculpted out of marble, the perfect visage of a living, breathing Greek god. 

"Hey," Cas called hesitantly, still too afraid to leave his spot in the doorway. Dean immediately turned to look in the direction of his voice, his eyes wide as if he had been caught redhanded. The moment their eyes met, the bastard grinned like an excited child on Christmas morning.

"Hey," he called back, letting his eyes skim over Castiel’s soaking wet form, “still enjoying this weather?"

Cas chuckled softly and nodded his head. He wanted to give some kind of clever response, but he couldn’t seem to find his voice.   
                                                      
“Why don’t you come over here and sit down," he insisted, gesturing for him to come closer, “you look pretty tired."

Castiel swallowed nervously. Dean was right, he should probably sit down before his legs gave out. He shuffled over to where the other man sat, careful to avert his gaze as he took a seat.

Why had he agreed to this? How was he supposed to have a normal conversation with Dean if he couldn’t even bring himself to look at him?

"So," Dean sighed, “while I was waiting, I decided that I didn’t need another drink after all. I was kind of exaggerating when I said I wanted to dump it down the toilet."

Cas glanced up, finally meeting the other man’s piercing gaze. If only he didn’t always stare at him as if he were the most captivating thing in the world.

"Damn," Cas chuckled softly, “I ran all the way here for nothing."  
                                                
“Nothing? You think that having the chance to talk to me is nothing?" Dean cried, his tone mockingly hurt.

"No! I didn’t mean that at all!"

"Calm down, man," Dean soothed, “I was just kidding. I’m happy you’re here."

Another fucking smile. He was in such deep shit.  
                                               
“I thought we could just sit and talk, seeing as the only things I know about you are that you know how to brew a damn good Americano and you live around here. If that’s alright with you?"

"Yeah, sure," Castiel mumbled, his cheeks flushing with embarassment. This was a dream, it had to be.

"So, Cas," Dean began, leaning forward in his seat and lessening the space between them, “what are you studying in college? I mean, I assume you go to the one a couple blocks away, right?"

Cas nodded, focusing intently on his clasped hands sitting on the table as opposed to the emerald eyes peering at him from across the table.

"I’m studying to become a computer engineer," he mumbled quickly. Every time he told someone the field he was going into, they would immediately assume he was a nerd. _A freak._

Dean’s eyes widened. “Really? Wow, Cas, the boy genuis."

Of course. How could he have ever believed that Dean would react any differently?

"No, all joking aside, that’s really impressive."

Castiel’s head shot up and his jaw dropped. That wasn’t disgust or scorn he detected in the other man’s voice. It was awe, something entirely new and surprising.

"I guess it’s considered a difficult field. I’ve just always been good with numbers. Math’s my thing," he replied softly, glancing over at Dean’s hands only inches away from his own.

"Of course it’s a hard field! I always hated math. I’m more of a… well, law is more my thing."

"I figured," Castiel chuckled, “being a lawyer and everything. Did you always know that was what you wanted to be?"              

Dean flinched, his lips twisting into a frown. Pain flashed in his eyes, as if Cas had just slapped him across the face. It was an awful sight, one Castiel never wanted to experience again.

"It’s a long story," Dean growled, his voice so quiet that Cas nearly missed his reply. An awkward silence filled the room, the only sound being the whirring of the coffee machines behind the counter.           

He had fucked up. In typical Castiel fashion, he had been given the perfect opportunity and had royally screwed it up. There had to be something he could do, something he could say, that would fix everything. He opened his mouth, ready to apologize when Dean gruffly interrupted.                      
                                        
“I should probably get to work. Sammy’s probably wondering what’s taking me so long," he mumbled, standing up and grabbing his suit jacket from where it was draped across the back of his chair. He quickly threw it on, a frown still visible on his troubled face.    

"Dean-"

"But first, I’m gonna walk you home," he interrupted, moving to stand next to Castiel’s seat.

"You don’t have to-"

"I want to," Dean declared, smiling weakly down at him.    
                                      
Cas slowly stood and pushed in his chair, surprised at how close the other man was standing. The soft brush of Dean’s fingers across the small of his back as he got to his feet gave him some comfort, the gesture conveying a sense of forgiveness.              
                                   
Suddenly, Dean reached over and intertwined their fingers, his larger hand engulfing Castiel’s. His eyes widened, flicking between the other man’s hopeful gaze to their clasped hands. His instincts screamed at him to pull away, to end this right now before Dean realized just how strange and unappealing he was.

But when Dean grinned at him like that, there was no way he could possibly say “no". He could at least pretend like everything was going to be alright.

 

* * *

     
                                          
The walk back to Castiel’s dorm was surprisingly quiet, an odd occurrence considering the way Dean seemed to love casual conversation. Occasionally, he would ask him about college life and the student body. They were simple questions, ranging from “What are the dorms like?" to “Who’s your favorite professor?" to “What are the parties like?"

Cas politely answered each question, pleased with the way he hid his wildly beating heart. However, the last question was definitely challenging to answer.    

Should he tell him the truth? That he never attended parties because his social skills were for shit? Eventually, he settled on telling him an almost truth. He claimed they were wild events where alcohol filled everyone’s cups and people swayed drunkenly to the beat of loud, monotonous dance music.   

Dean had chuckled and replied that that sounded about right.                      

When they finally reached the door to Castiel’s dorm, the rainfall had become more relentless, striking the sidewalk and converging into puddles. Dean carefully led Cas along, laughing every time he accidentally stepped in a puddle and pulled his foot out while muttering a string of angry curses. No, it wasn’t funny.

Then, much too soon, there they stood. The doorway, the place Cas had come to associate with intimate moments between two lovers thanks to the countless romantic comedies he had watched. And he was standing there with the one person he’d be willing to share such a romantic moment with.

Dean moved so that only a few inches separated he and Castiel. He still held Cas’s hand, giving it a gentle squeeze as he stepped closer.   
                                         
“I had fun," he whispered, “more fun than I’ve had in a while."

"Me too," Cas muttered, mustering up all of his confidence and meeting Dean’s hooded stare.

Castiel wished there was some way he could preserve the next couple seconds, when things were still so easy and happy.

Dean leaned in, raising his one hand to cradle Cas’s face. He swiped his thumb softly across the other boy’s cheek, savoring in the way he leaned into his touch. Gently, he pressed a chaste kiss to Castiel’s lips and pulled away.

It was brief, a fleeting touch that managed to leave Cas’s lips tingling as if he were pulling away from a more heated kiss. He wanted more, more of that endless warmth and anxious anticipation. His first kiss was the shortest one he would ever experience, but it would always be his favorite.   
                                             
“Goodbye, Cas," Dean whispered, squeezing his hand once more before letting go and turning to leave.

Castiel watched him go, umbrella held high and a slight jump in his step. He seemed so happy and yet Cas had no idea how anyone could be any more ecstatic than him.

He had been cold before, the chill of the rain that clung to his drenched clothes seeping into his skin. But now he felt as if he were standing on the surface of the Sun, heat spreading to every inch of his body.

That is, except for his one hand, left dangling at his side without Dean’s pleasantly tender grasp.


	4. A Ray of Sunshine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can’t help it. He’s the fucking Sun trapped in a human body." ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Party with me on [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual) ayyyyy
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

"Oh my God..."

By this point, roughly three weeks after Castiel had started his job at the little coffee shop, he had seen several different sides of his boss. He had seen him angry, tired, happy- hell, he’d even seen the guy hungover! But he had never seen him like this.  
  
Gabe had been cleaning one of the tables, humming something that sounded suspiciously like a Kelly Clarkson song, when the little bell above the door rang.

There really weren’t even words to describe the expression on his boss's face. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped, looking almost as if he had just seen a ghost. It was the strangest combination of fear and admiration Castiel had ever seen. 

And it was directed at the second most attractive man Cas had ever encountered, Dean being the first, of course.

He was tall, easily the tallest person in the room, with broad shoulders and incredibly long legs. He was dressed in an impressive-looking black suit, most likely tailored specifically for him, with a maroon tie hanging  between the lapels of his jacket. His golden brown hair just reached his shoulders, a couple strands tucked neatly behind his ears and away from his face. As he walked in, his hazel eyes slowly swept the room before stopping on the gaping man staring blatantly up at him, a towel still clutched in his shaking hands.

"Long time no see, Sammy," Gabe squeaked, making his way over to the safety of the counter.

 _Sammy?_                   
  
The man laughed, filling the room with a rich, contagious sound that beckoned you to laugh along with it. It was as if a ray of sunlight had entered the shop, bringing all of the light and joy from the outside world to those who were stuck inside and unable to enjoy it.        

He approached the counter, arms swinging by his sides with every step, briefcase in hand. Why did that name sound so familiar?

"Oh c’mon, Gabe," he chuckled, “you know how hard it is for me to drag myself out of bed in the morning. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve decided I’m gonna try to get my lazy ass up earlier so I can come here before heading to work."

Gabe leaned against the counter, gently pushing Castiel out of the way. He stared at the giant of a man, his eyebrows raised in confusion.  
  
“I’ll believe it when I see it. What changed your mind?"              
  
That’s when he finally acknowledged Cas’s presence, turning away from Gabe’s curious stare. "Are you Castiel?" he asked, a hopeful glint in his eyes.

"Um," Cas muttered, feeling like an insignificant little ant as the large man gazed down at him expectantly, “yeah. Yeah I am."  
  
The man grinned and turned back to Gabe. “It’s because of him. He’s the reason."

"What?" Gabe cried, glancing over at Castiel’s dumbstruck face, “him? I don’t under-"

"Dean told me he makes a mean cup of Joe," the man interrupted, gesturing in Cas’s direction.

Dean? This man had heard something about him from _Dean_? Maybe he worked at the same law firm as… _holy shit_.

"Wait, are you Sam Winchester?" Castiel gasped, seeing the towering man in a whole new light.

"That’s me," he laughed, completely oblivious to the hungry look in Gabe’s eyes as he watched him, “I was hoping Dean would at least have the decency to mention me."

"I’m so sorry. He never really told me what you looked like so I wasn’t sure if, you know, you were tall or if you had brown hair or maybe blond hair or-"

"Hey, it’s okay," Sam interjected, “I understand. Besides, Gabe is the one that’s in trouble, not you."

"Me?" His boss cried, a mischievous smirk on his face, “what did I do?"

"No, it’s not what you did. It’s what you _didn’t_ do."

"Oh? And what’s that?"

"You didn’t tell him that Dean’s brother was such a stud," Sam quipped, brushing a loose strand of hair out of his face.

"I didn’t wanna lie to the poor guy," Gabe replied, practically purring as he spoke.                             
  
The entire time, Castiel watched their conversation with a knowing smile on his face. He was many things, but he certainly wasn’t stupid. The two men had a history, that’s for sure, and they weren’t trying to hide it. The flirtatious smiles, the overly enthusiastic laughter, the friendly banter- it all added up. And if that wasn’t evidence enough, the way Gabe stared at Sam made everything crystal clear.  

It was the same longing stare Cas reserved only for Dean. The look of a man plagued with a desperate need, an insatiable desire to touch and be touched. The look of a man fueled by a possibly ridiculous sense of hope, an optimistic nature that surfaced every time the other man was involved. And it was the look of a man who had fallen, thrown right into the dangerous and merciless game of love.

"No, you’d be lying if you said that Dean was the more attractive one. I mean, we all know that’s me," Sam insisted, puffing out his chest and standing straighter.

Gabe threw his head back and laughed, slapping his hands down on the counter. Speaking of overly enthusiastic laughs…

"What do you think, Castiel?"

The sound of Sam’s excited voice pulled Cas away from his thoughts. He could only stare back at the man, completely caught off guard by the question.  
  
“Never mind, you’re probably biased," Sam sighed, rolling his eyes playfully.

Cas felt like he was going to vomit. Had Dean told Sam that they had grown closer over the past few weeks? Or that they had once swapped shirts? _Or that they had kissed?_  

"I wouldn’t expect you to be honest. I know how Dean can be," the tall man continued, “he would never let one of his friends take my side."

Friends. Sam had just called him Dean’s friend. Not boyfriend, just _friend_.

"Right," Cas chuckled nervously, glancing down at the money in the other man’s hand, “he would be pretty pissed if he found out."

“Typical Dean, being all controlling. He always is that way with his friends. Of course, the poor guy hasn’t had an actual friend in ages. Not since…"  
  
Sam stopped, his lips twisting into a frustrated scowl. Castiel hoped that he would finish, his curiosity piqued by the other man's words. He couldn’t imagine a guy like Dean not having friends. He was intelligent, attractive, clever, friendly- what would possibly make people dislike him?

"Anyway," Sam sighed, turning to look at Gabe, “do you think I can trust this guy enough to make me a latte?"

"Hells yeah," Gabe cried, reaching over to pat Cas on the back, "Cassie here is practically a professional!"

Castiel blushed, shifting away from Gabe’s touch and staring down at the counter. “I wouldn’t say that…"

"You’re too modest! Go get to work on that latte, alright? Venti!"

Before Gabe could even finish speaking, Cas had turned and moved towards the coffee machine. He couldn’t wait to be home, away from all of this confusion. Was his relationship with Dean all in his head? Why didn’t Dean have any friends? What had Sam meant when he said “not since" and never finished his train of thought?

He wanted to scream, to throw the coffee machine on to the ground and smash it to pieces. There was so much pent up anger trapped in his chest, begging to get out. He and Dean were a lie. His love was unrequited, and his feelings might as well be a fucking joke.

When he finished preparing Sam’s latte, throwing the ingredients together in his haste to see the man that kept constantly reminding him of Dean leave. He seemed like a nice guy, but he didn’t know what his words had just done, the pain they had caused.

"Here you go," he muttered, pushing the drink across the counter in the towering figure’s direction, “I hope you enjoy it."

"I’m sure I will," Sam replied, flashing him an appreciative smile, “thanks, Castiel. See you later, Gabe."

"Yeah, I bet you’ll see me later! Try next month! Or next year!" Gabe called, watching Sam leave with a heartbroken look on his face.

The second the tall man’s enchanting laughter no longer filled the little shop and the door shut behind him, Gabe let out a long, relieved sigh. 

"Damn, thank God that’s-"

"What the hell was that?" Cas cried, taking a step closer to his boss, “You never told me you knew Sam Winchester!"

"Eh, it didn’t seem that important. I know you only have eyes for Dean-o."

“Yeah, I guess," Castiel mumbled, flushing with embarrassment. It was the truth after all.

"Sam’s way more attractive, but whatever. To each his own, right?" Gabe explained, speaking as if he were relaying a universally accepted fact instead of a personal opinion.

"Oh yeah, and that, too. Is there something going on between…?"

"Who knows," Gabe sighed, his face falling almost immediately, “we don’t talk as much as we used to. For a while, he kept showing up to the shop regularly, and I thought, ‘hey, maybe this fine piece of ass is actually into me.’ But, as you can see, I was wrong."

Cas couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He could only imagine what it would feel like if Dean stopped showing up for his morning coffee. Yesterday, he had told Cas that he wouldn’t be there the next day because he had a meeting in the morning, and it had just about killed him. The thought of a day without Dean made him nauseous.

"I’m sorry," he replied softly, placing a comforting hand on the shorter man’s shoulder, “that must’ve been terrible."

Gabe shrugged, a defeated look on his face. “I’m over it. If it happens, it happens. And if it doesn’t, well…"

It hurt Cas to even look at the other man’s face. He only saw pain there, excruciating and crippling pain. Gabe was lying, and Castiel wasn’t sure who he was really trying to convince.

"But enough of that," Gabe sighed, “what’s going on with you and Dean? And don’t you dare say 'nothing.'"

"I honestly don't know," Cas answered softly, glimpsing the other man's look of pity out of the corner of his eye, "I thought we were just friends up until a few days ago. He... he, um, he kissed me."

Gabe blinked, his face completely devoid of emotion. Cas opened his mouth to speak again, ready to say that he was just kidding to get a reaction out of him, but then the bastard burst out laughing.

He bent over, his arms wrapped around his stomach as he let out a stream of loud, bellowing laughs that echoed off the walls. Cas crossed his arms, lips pursing into a little pout as he leered at the hysterical man.

"What's so funny?" he growled, growing angrier and angrier by the second.

"I'm-I'm sorry," Gabe gasped, glancing up at him with tears streaking down his face,"it's just- oh my God- I should've known!"

"Should've known what?" Castiel cried, quickly losing his patience. 

"That  _you_ would be the- shit, hah- the one he finally kissed!"

Cas felt the ground drop out from underneath him. Did he just say "finally"? As in has-never-done-it-before-so-this-is-the-first-time finally?

Gabe straightened up, brushing the excess tears away as he stood. When he saw Castiel's expression of pure shock, he immediately quieted and took a step closer to him. 

"Damn, I didn't mean that in a bad way," he insisted, "that's a good thing, I promise!"

Cas nodded, the word  _finally_ repeating itself over and over again in his mind. 

"You know, truth is, I'm just jealous," Gabe confessed, biting his lip anxiously, "I've always wanted something like that. Someone to come and sweep me off my feet, take me away from here. Someone that'll make me happy..."

He turned to glance out the window, the sunlight illuminating the residual moisture from his tears. That was the moment Cas realized that there was another side to his boss that he had never seen: he had never seen him sad. 

"Shit, Cas," he whispered, "I can't help it. He's the fucking Sun trapped in a human body."

And, as strange as it might sound, Castiel understood. 


	5. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The importance of baby steps ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: **heavy makeout session ahead**
> 
> Get down and dirty with me on this weird website called [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual)...
> 
>  
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

Castiel had pictured many things when he imagined Dean’s workplace. I mean, based on the suits he had seen the Winchester brothers wear, he could only assume that they were pretty successful. So when Dean invited him to visit his workplace (that’s right, he fucking  _invited him_ ), he had an idea of what he should expect. But he had underestimated, oh, had he underestimated. He'd pictured an impressive building, but he hadn’t been prepared for anything like this.

It stood ten stories tall, a truly imposing work of modern architecture. The entire structure seemed to be completely composed of windows, reflecting the sunlight directly into his eyes. “Winchester & Winchester Ltd." was emblazoned in gold lettering above the front door, making the building even more formidable if at all possible. 

As he continued to stare up at the structure, a completely awestruck expression on his face, he decided that Dean could’ve at least warned him that he worked at a place like  _this._ A simple “my building might make you shit your pants" would’ve sufficed.

Cautiously, he approached the door, wetting his rapidly drying lips. This had been such a mistake, probably the biggest mistake he’d made in a while. Well, besides kissing Dean. He was beginning to think that had been the worst decision he’d made in his entire life.

He slowly opened the door, peering inside. His jaw was practically touching the floor by now, having just caught sight of the beautiful interior.  _What am I doing here?_

The lobby was absolutely extraordinary, with its marble floors and ornate chandelier hanging from the ceiling, its walls lined with paintings and mahogany front desk sitting in the center of it all. Castiel felt completely out of place.

"Ah, there you are!"

Cas jumped, turning with wide eyes to face the looming figure of none other than Sam Winchester.

"Dean told me you were coming," he trilled, a huge grin on his face as he gazed down at the starstruck boy before him, “He told me to just wait down here so I could show you where his office is."

Castiel smiled weakly, trying to appear calm. He didn’t understand, he shouldn’t be this nervous. He and Dean were just friends after all. It wasn’t like he had anything to be concerned about.

"Thanks," he replied, staring down at his feet, “I probably would’ve gotten lost."

Sam chuckled, that same warm sound that seemed to fill the room with a contagiously euphoric sense of excitement. Dean’s laugh elicited a different kind of feeling inside of Cas, a desire to feel it against his skin, to feel the reassuring warmth of his breath. 

"You wouldn’t be the first," Sam admitted, “this place can be like a maze to someone who’s never been here before. C’mon, I’ll bring you to Dean."

He gestured for Cas to follow, making his way over to the elevator as he continued to speak. “It’s nice to see that Dean has a friend now."

Castiel attempted to catch up to him, struggling to match his impossibly long stride. 

"Yeah," he mumbled, still upset to hear that he and Dean were only friends, “It is nice."

The two stood in front of the elevator, an awkward silence lingering between them. Sam obviously was expecting a more elaborate response from him, but what was he supposed to say? That he didn’t really think it was “nice" because he wanted something more than friendship? Oh yeah, that’d go over  _real_ well.

Thankfully, the elevator door slid open and Cas quickly climbed on. Sam followed, shooting him a confused look as he moved to stand by his side. Castiel smiled up at him, hoping that it would be enough to convince Sam that nothing strange was going on.  

The silence persisted for a few more minutes before he finally spoke up. “Hey, Cas?"

It was the first time Castiel had ever heard the man use the shortened version of his name. He could only hope that it was a good thing.

"Yeah?" he replied hesitantly, glancing up into Sam’s inquisitive eyes.

"You actually like Dean, right? Like you… you wouldn’t just stop talking to him?"

Whoa. Okay, he wasn’t expecting that at all.

"Of course I like Dean," Castiel insisted, “he’s a very likable person. Why do you ask?"

Sam bit his lip, averting his gaze. It was odd seeing the tall man so nervous and on edge. Like Dean, he seemed to possess an incredible amount of confidence, as if he were incapable of being flustered.

"Well," he sighed, “it’s kind of a long story. Let’s just say that there was someone in the past who… who decided that Dean wasn’t good enough for them. But it’s really not my story to tell. I just don’t want the same thing to happen again."

Cas watched as he explained, his face contorted by pain and frustration. He couldn’t bring himself to ask for a better explanation when it brought the man so much sorrow.

"I understand," Cas assured him gently. It was clear that whatever had happened to Dean had shaken up his younger brother, and he wanted nothing more than to see that naturally bright and cheerful nature return.

"No, Cas," Sam whispered, “you don’t understand. But be happy you don’t."

 

* * *

 

Sam and Castiel walked from the elevator to Dean’s office in complete silence. Cas had wanted to say something to break the tension, but the other man’s words had left him utterly speechless.

"Here you go," Sam sighed, stopping in front of a door labeled “Dean Winchester". He mumbled a quick “have fun" before turning and striding away with his head down. For once, Cas was actually happy to see him leave. A sad Sam Winchester was a depressing sight.

"Shit, shit, shit," Castiel muttered under his breath. Should he knock? Fuck, he should probably just leave and escape from his impending-

The door suddenly opened, revealing the suit-clad figure of Dean Winchester. He had discarded his usual jacket, now only wearing a blue and white striped button-down shirt. 

"Hey, Cas," Dean greeted cheerily, giving him the once over as he leaned against the door frame, “Why don’t you come on in?"

Cas nodded, and hurriedly stepped over the threshold. The man’s office was fairly large, a few sets of bookshelves pushed up against the wall behind a mahogany desk similar to the one in the lobby. The wall on the opposite side of the room was actually a large window, looking out over the shorter neighboring buildings and the city street down below. Everything about the space, from the leather-bound books lining the bookshelves to the blue marble globe sitting on the desk, was arranged in a neat and orderly fashion. 

"Wow," Cas gasped, taking several steps before stopping behind a black leather chair in front of Dean’s desk, “you sure keep this place neat!"

Dean came up behind him, leaning in close so that his nose just barely brushed the fine hairs tucked behind his ear. Cas could feel his warm breath tickling his skin.  _Just breathe_ , Castiel reminded himself.  

"I can be a little bit of a clean freak at times," he purred, reaching around Cas and pulling the chair out for him to take a seat, “At least when it comes to my office."

Castiel swallowed nervously, trying to ignore the soft brush of the other man’s fingertips down the length of his arms as he sat. Did Dean have any idea what his touch did to him?

Dean carefully pushed the chair back into place, and circled around to his own seat, sitting heavily with a little  _huff_. He tilted his head to the side, fixing Cas with his curious, emerald gaze.

"So," he began, picking a pen out of the coffee mug on his desk and twirling it between his fingers, “you like the place?"

Castiel’s jaw dropped. Was he serious?

"Like?" he cried, “Are you kidding me? This place is incredible?"

Dean chuckled and shook his head, the pen in his hand still spinning. Cas couldn’t take his eyes off of the damn thing, the way Dean’s nimble fingers looked as they easily maneuvered it in little circles. “I guess it is pretty impressive, huh?"

"Just a little, yeah," Cas scoffed, his lips turning up into a small smile, “I almost shit my pants when I saw the place."

"Pfft, sounds about right," Dean laughed, finally ceasing his hand gestures and setting the pen back in its rightful place, “You’re not the first person to say that."

"I can imagine," he agreed, grateful that his nerves weren’t interfering at the moment. The last thing he needed to do was make a fool of himself. 

"Yeah," the other man drawled, leaning forward in his seat. He stared straight into Castiel’s eyes, sending an excited shiver down his spine. 

Cas knew this was the moment he was supposed to say something. Maybe make some comment about the office building or maybe ask Dean whether he liked his job. And he wanted to, he really did, but things never seemed to go his way.

"Was I your first kiss?"

Well, fuck. The joys of anxiety-induced word vomit.

Dean blinked once, twice, a third time. His face didn’t convey any emotion, leaving Cas completely clueless as to what he was thinking. His eyes flicked down to the lamp on his desk, lingering on the shining bulb. Several seconds of uncomfortable silence followed before he eventually spoke.

"Who told you?" he whispered in the softest voice Castiel had ever heard the man use. 

Should he tell him the truth? It couldn’t hurt, could it? Gabe certainly hadn’t meant any harm in telling him. 

"Gabe," Cas replied in an equally soft tone. There was no going back now.

Dean remained silent, intently focused on the lamp fixture. He didn’t move a muscle, didn’t even appear to blink. It was as if he had finally become the intricate marble statue Castiel had always thought him to be. 

He had done it. He had finally fucking done it. With one simple question, he had crushed whatever chance he might have ever had with the amazing Dean Winchester. 

"I’m sorry, I think I should probably go-"

"Cas-"

Cas was already standing, nearly tripping as he attempted to walk on his wobbling legs.  _Don’t cry, please just don’t fucking cry._

_Thud._

Dean had managed to rise up from his seat and come closer without his knowledge, effectively sneaking up on him. And now he was using his body to press Castiel’s shaky figure up against the door. 

"Stop," Dean growled in Cas’s ear, his hands wrapped firmly around his wrists as he held the other man in place, “right now."

Castiel knew where this was going- or at least where he hoped it would go. He was already aroused by the other man’s muscular figure pressed against his back, but the very sound of his gravelly voice managed to make him even harder. He could feel a moan rising up his throat, begging to be released. 

"But Dean-"

"Shhh…" he soothed, gently using his grip on the boy’s wrists to turn him around, “You have nothing to worry about. I wasn’t upset."

Castiel could only stare at him, a quivering, horny mess. Opening his mouth to speak was no longer an option.

"Gabe was right, that was my first kiss. And you know what? I’m happy it was. I couldn’t have dreamt up a better one. I wouldn’t have wanted it to be with anyone else."

_Son of a bitch._

Before Dean could even react, Cas cut him off with the hungry press of his lips. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before. He felt like a parched man lost in the desert after finding an oasis, a man stranded at sea after spotting a nearby shore, a desperate beggar after discovering a bag filled with riches- he felt  _whole._

It only took a few seconds for Dean to begin eagerly kissing him back, slipping Castiel’s lower lip between his own lips and giving it a playful tug. He gasped, pleasantly surprised by the bold move, and used the new angle to softly bite Dean’s upper lip. The other man cried out excitedly and then chuckled into Cas’s mouth, using his hold on his wrists to pull him over to his desk. 

The entire time, their lips remained connected, tongues curling, brushing together as they moved. It was a kiss fueled by all of the frenzied lust both men had been painstakingly concealing, a kiss born of a desperate desire and an aching longing. Dean easily lifted Castiel onto his desk, slipping his hands down to his ass, and gripped it firmly as he set him down.

Cas finally let out the moan he had been holding in, leaning his head back and revealing the smooth skin of his neck to Dean’s wandering lips. He closed his eyes, sinking into the breathtaking sensation of Dean’s soft lips pressed to his skin, trailing across the sharp lines of his collarbone down to the tender spot right above the neckline of his shirt. 

"Dean…" Castiel sighed, reaching down to fist his hands in the short, golden brown strands of the other man’s hair. Dean hummed appreciatively against his skin and gave his ass one more squeeze before bringing his hands back to Cas’s thighs. He quickly slipped his hands between his legs, pushing his thighs farther apart and stepping forward.

He reluctantly pulled away from Cas, laughing at the other man’s whine of protest. Dean's hands moved to rest on Castiel’s chest, slowly pushing him down onto the desk with a mischievous smirk on his face, the cold wooden surface pressing against Cas's back. Dean’s lust-blown pupils and hooded gaze filled Castiel’s vision, pulling him under, reeling him in, drowning him in their emerald green pools. He could feel himself sinking, giving in, falling, a vulnerable yet willing victim of every push, every pull, every touch.

"Oh," he gasped, lifting his legs to wrap around Dean’s waist and arching his back into the delicious friction of the other man’s slowly gyrating hips. He was hard, so fucking hard, and the fact that Dean was just as aroused pushed him closer and closer to that blissful edge, so close, so tantalizingly close. The kiss was rapidly becoming more passionate, dirtier, hungrier. He could feel himself being ravaged, pulled apart piece by piece.

Dean’s grinding hips increased their speed, a primal growl slipping past his lips along with one particularly rough thrust. The pressure, it was too much, too overpowering. He felt like he was going to explode.

Without thinking, Castiel shoved Dean away, struggling to push himself up into a sitting position. He couldn’t, he just  _couldn’t-_  not like this. Dean looked horrified and positively wrecked, his disheveled hair and swollen lips seeming out of place when coupled with the evident pain in his eyes.

"Cas…"

"I-I can’t," he whimpered, bowing his head, “this- it’s too soon."

Dean’s face softened, concern immediately taking the place of frustration and hurt. He cautiously moved his hand up to cup Castiel’s face, gently rubbing the pad of his thumb along his jawline.

Castiel's brain wouldn’t stop, a wasted mess, always circling back to the moment he had let his instincts take over and practically tackled Dean. It was as if he had lost control of his body, had lost his sanity. A move like that was so unlike him- this was only the second time he’d ever kissed anyone. And they were moving along much too fast.

"I-I’m so sorry," he whispered, a weak sob slipping out on the last word, “I don’t even know what this is between us a-and I’m new to this and I-I don’t know what I’m doing-"

Cas’s eyes widened, staring down at the barely there pressure of Dean’s finger against his lips.

"It’s okay," Dean soothed, “You have nothing to be sorry about. I wasn’t thinking and I finally had you and I just- it’s my fault. We’ll take things slowly from now on, alright?"

He sounded so sincere and understanding, his voice a warm blanket shielding Cas from the cold reality of his fears.

"Baby steps?" Dean asked with a little chuckle, removing his finger. That flirtatious smirk was back, reminding Castiel of the first day he had spoken to the man. He had fantasized about an intimate moment like this, and now he was shying away from it.

Cas let a out a long, shaky sigh and lifted his head to meet Dean’s gaze. His eyes held so much kindness, so much hope, as if Castiel weren’t actually some pathetic waste of time that refused to put out. It was like Cas was something special, something to be treasured and cared for.

"Yeah," he whispered, leaning into Dean's touch, "baby steps."


	6. The Big Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Dean is a romantic and Cas learns to love surprises ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual) is an okay place I guess
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

This had to be some sort of joke.

Castiel stared, gaping at the door, watching it shut behind Dean’s retreating figure. Had he heard him right? Had he just asked Cas to meet him at the-

"The park?" Gabe cried incredulously, a hint of humor in his voice.

Cas continued to watch the door, thinking that maybe Dean would walk back through and tell him he had just been kidding. The park was an incredibly romantic place in Castiel’s eyes, a place where couples went to walk around holding hands and show the public just how happy they were together. Did Dean really think they were ready for that? Hell, Cas wasn't even sure whether they were “dating" or not!

"Wow, Cassie, I never pegged Dean as a romantic," Gabe chuckled, lifting a steaming latte up from off the counter, “next thing I know, you’ll be telling me about your movie dates and how Dean-o has a candle-lit dinner planned."

Castiel turned sharply, shooting Gabe an angry scowl.  _Bastard_.

"I’m sure I’ll be hearing about you and Sam doing shit like that first," Cas growled, staring back at his boss with an icy glare and triumphant smirk.

Gabe rolled his eyes and turned to look out at the few customers present, most of which were sitting quietly by themselves with a laptop open in front of them. Sam Winchester just so happened to be one of those lonely customers.

"Yeah, yeah, you just keep telling yourself that," Gabe muttered, strutting away with Sam’s latte in hand. 

Everything about Gabe’s demeanor screamed _I’m so happy, I could explode_ , from the little bounce in his step to the smile that had been plastered on his face from the moment Cas had come into work that morning. Of course, Castiel wasn’t surprised. As promised, Sam had been showing up at the coffee shop shortly before Dean for the past few days, something that seemed to have come as a surprise to Gabe.

As Castiel watched, propped up against the counter, Sam gratefully accepted his drink from Gabe, smiling up at him as he wrapped his fingers around the brown Styrofoam cup. He chuckled something resembling “this better be as good as the last one," eliciting an overzealous cackle from Gabe. Cas couldn’t make out the shorter man’s response, but he could only imagine what it was based on the huge grin brightening Sam’s face.

He really wished that there was some way he could convince Gabe to explain his history with Sam. The whole thing was so mysterious, and although Cas wasn’t nosy, the somber way his boss talked about it certainly piqued his interest. He only knew that Sam had once been a regular customer at the coffee shop, the reason behind his disappearance remaining a closely-guarded secret. _Curiosity killed the cat_ , his mind quickly interjected.

And then he remembered what was really important: Dean had just invited him on a walk through the park. That was practically like asking him out on a date, right?

His shift ended at four o’clock today, roughly nine hours from now.  _Nine fucking hours of nothing._

He would have to run home, find something to wear, fix his hair… he was so screwed.

It had been almost a week since that day in Dean’s office, the moment when he had admitted how truly insecure he was about physical contact. His experience with intimacy was basically non-existent, considering he had just shared his first kiss that month, and thinking about… sex made him incredibly uncomfortable.

The whole thing was so confusing. He wanted nothing more than to know what it would feel like to fall apart beneath Dean’s experienced touch, to feel their bodies pressed together, bare skin against bare skin. In his head, sex with Dean sounded nothing short of incredible, but he knew the truth. He wouldn’t be able to go through with it, at least not now.

"Hey!" Gabe suddenly called from across the room, pulling Castiel from his frustrating thoughts, “Come here, Cassie! Sam just told me the funniest joke!"

Cas blinked, finding his way back to reality. He supposed the two lovebirds would be a good enough distraction for now.

 

* * *

 

"It’s beautiful, huh?" 

Castiel swallowed nervously, glancing down at he and Dean’s clasped hands. They were walking through the park-  _holding hands._

"Oh yeah," Cas agreed, looking back up again at their surroundings. They were walking along a gravel path, surrounded by lush green grass and tall elm trees, their branches providing shade for the happy couples seated beneath them. The Sun’s rays struck the brilliant blue surface of the small pond off to the left, illuminating the sleek feathers of the ducks casually peddling across it. Wooden benches were arranged around the pond, ready to be filled by people fishing, as well as alongside the path, a welcome break for runners. Everyone there seemed so happy, so carefree, so  _peaceful_.  He certainly wasn’t lying- the park looked absolutely breathtaking on a gorgeous day like today.

"But you’re just trying to change the subject again," Castiel continued, nudging Dean playfully with his elbow as they walked, “What’s in that bag?"

A large tote bag hung from Dean’s right arm, just out of Cas’s reach. The top was sealed, keeping all of its contents a secret, hidden away from Castiel’s prying eyes. 

"I told you, Cas," Dean sighed, glancing over at him with a smirk, “It’s a surprise."

"Yeah, well, I don’t like surprises."

"I’ve noticed," Dean chuckled, giving Cas’s hand a gentle squeeze, “but this is a  _good_  surprise. I promise you’ll like it, okay?"

Castiel sighed, turning away from Dean to look out at a boy excitedly showing off a wriggling fish to his father. He should be happy, shouldn’t he? It was a beautiful day, and he was on a date with Dean Winchester. What more could he possibly ask for?

"Okay," he replied softly, “I guess you’re right. I really have no idea what’s in there."

"That’s the point! I can’t wait to see your face when I open this bad boy up."

Cas rolled his eyes, laughing softly under his breath. He loved it when Dean smiled at him like that, the little creases at the corners of his lips, the affectionate glint in his eyes. The gesture held more compassion than he was used to.

"You seem pretty sure of yourself," he chuckled, stepping around a particularly large rock, “What if your little ‘surprise’ isn’t as great as you think it is?"

"Of course it is," Dean scoffed, “when have I ever done something that isn’t great?"

"Oh, for the love of God," Castiel cried, lightly jabbing the other man’s stomach with his elbow.

"I’m kidding, I’m kidding!"

"Sure you are," Cas drawled, flashing Dean a flirtatious grin. He was still trying to get the hang of this whole “flirtatious banter" the other man seemed to love.

"I swear," Dean insisted, “I’m not like that. People always think I’m this cocky son of a bitch, but I promise I’m not."

"I know, Dean. But I can see where it’d be hard to tell for someone who doesn’t know you as well as I do."

"Yeah, I guess," he sighed, glancing up into the drooping branches of a tree as they passed beneath it. A robin sat perched among the leaves, it’s tiny head tilting to the side, watching them.

"Anyway," Cas began uncertainly, “I know you can’t tell me what’s in the bag. But can you at least tell me where we’re going?"

Dean chuckled, a bright and joyful sound that perfectly fit the paradise-like scene. He would never get tired of hearing that laugh.

"Nope," Dean trilled, “I’m afraid I can’t. That’s also part of the ‘big surprise’."

"You’re such an ass," Cas mumbled, unable to stay serious and keep a smile off his face. He secretly loved the fact Dean was going to all of this trouble for him. Over the past couple days, they had spent roughly an hour sitting around talking when Dean came in to pick up his daily coffee, discussing the simplest things.

One day, they spent thirty minutes talking about their favorite colors. Another day, they had a heated debate over which pizza toppings were the best and which ones shouldn’t even be considered a topping at all. Yesterday, they came to an agreement about what name would be the best for a cat and which would be the best for a dog. Their favorite season of the year, favorite movie genre, favorite day of the week- really simple things.

But for now, the two walked in comfortable silence, soaking in the beauty of their surroundings. Dean seemed to have a destination in mind, choosing certain pathways, and began walking faster the further they went. Castiel had been nervous at first, but his anxiety was quickly receding, replaced with excitement as the other man guided him along, a huge grin plastered on his face.

Suddenly, Dean stopped. Cas almost tripped, caught off guard by the unexpected halt.

"Here we go," he muttered, gently tugging Cas in the direction of a group of large bushes, “this is what I’m talkin’ about."

Castiel glanced over at him, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  _What the hell?_

"Um, Dean?" Cas asked in a concerned tone, “What are you doing?"

"You’ll see."

Castiel rolled his eyes and snorted. Typical Dean.

He pulled him along, glancing from side to side as they approached one of the spaces between two bushes. Cas couldn’t see anything past the damn things except for a bright stream of sunlight.

"Just follow me right through here, okay?" Dean insisted, gesturing to the opening.

"Dean…"

"Trust me, please," he begged, fixing Cas with a pleading stare. It was the only time Castiel had ever seen Dean look vulnerable, maybe even a little scared. He actually seemed nervous, worried that he would scare Cas away or disappoint him. Whatever he had planned must be pretty special to him.

"Alright," Castiel sighed, ducking his head as he followed Dean through the bushes, shoving the short, leafy branches out of the way. His heart was beating wildly in his chest and his throat felt dry, various images of what Dean might have in mind flashing before his eyes.

Cas pushed back one final branch and his jaw dropped. Nothing his imagination had conjured up had prepared him for this.

It was a breathtaking sight, something straight from a movie. His eyes swept over the small field, surrounded by trees and filled with tiny purple flowers, their blossoms swaying softly in the breeze. In the middle of it all sat a short stump, caught in the spotlight of a single ray of sunshine, a few stray pink blossoms sprouting up from the ground around it. There wasn’t a single person in sight, the entire space left open for them to enjoy.

"Oh my God," Castiel whispered, “Dean-"

"Wait, it gets better!" Dean cried, dragging Cas in the direction of the stump, practically jogging as he dragged him along. He was so eager, expressing an endearing child-like innocence and enthusiasm that made Castiel’s heart ache. It was the happiest he had ever seen Dean.

"Sit there for a second," he insisted, pointing at the stump. He raised their joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to Castiel’s knuckles before reluctantly letting go and allowing him to take a seat.

Dean lifted the bag, holding it up and peeking around to shoot Cas a cocky little smirk. Castiel laughed, watching the other man swing his arm with a flourish, slowly unclasping the top of the bag, his gaze fixed on him as he did so. The bastard was having too much fun with this.

He then reached into the tote and pulled out… _O_ _h my God._

It was a blanket, decorated in a red plaid pattern. He raised it quickly above his head, allowing it to unfold and the edges to spread out before he gently laid it in the grass. Next, he pulled out two sandwiches, each individually wrapped and, based on the smears of mayonnaise and mustard on the wrapping, handmade. He held one up in each hand, turning them around like a salesperson trying to sell their merchandise.

"Easily the best sandwiches in this entire city," he trilled, holding one out towards Castiel.

Cas had lost the ability to speak the moment Dean had pulled the worn-looking blanket from the bag. This was… he had no words. He was the nerd that was never asked out on dates, and he certainly was never asked to share a romantic picnic at the park. He grabbed the sandwich, holding back tears as he examined the neatly stacked turkey and cheese within. He had taken the time to make him a sandwich, a  _fucking sandwich_.

"You…" Castiel managed to choke out, “you did all of this? For me?"

Dean chuckled, reaching out and pulling Cas up onto his feet. He wrapped his fingers around each of Castiel’s wrists, bringing him over to take a seat on the soft, red fabric. He moved so that Cas could rest against his side, securing his arm around his midsection.

"Of course I did," Dean replied, sighing contentedly when Castiel leaned back against his chest, resting his chin on the top of his head, the ebony strands of Cas’s hair tickling his skin, “I would do anything for you."

 

* * *

 

"You were right about the sandwiches, " Castiel chuckled, tilting his head back a little to look up into Dean’s emerald gaze.

"Hell yeah I was," he replied smugly, reaching up to cup Cas’s face in the large palm of his hand. Castiel’s eyes fluttered shut, savoring the comforting warmth of Dean’s touch.

"Smug bastard," Cas purred, shifting even closer to him, resting his hand on his thigh. He felt light, so light that he may just float away in the breeze, swept away into the vast sky above. 

"You know it," Dean whispered, leaning down as he spoke. His eyes slowly skimmed over Cas’s face, stopping on his slightly parted lips. He knew what was coming, could see the anticipation in Dean’s eyes, the longing. Castiel wanted it, wanted to feel the pressure of the lips he, the touch he craved.

Carefully, Dean pressed his lips to Cas’s, their noses lighting brushing together as he closed the gap. They were so pliant, so warm, so  _inviting_. Cas sighed into Dean’s mouth, burying his fingers in the short strands of hair at the base of the other man's head. He pulled him closer, he  _needed_ him to be closer.

Dean's hand moved down, snaking underneath the thin fabric of Cas's shirt. He trailed his fingertips across the smooth skin of his belly, tendrils of heat spreading across Castiel's chest. Each touch was a gentle caress, born of true compassion as opposed to uncontrollable lust. Castiel had loved the way Dean had pressed him into his office desk, but there was something about this kiss that made it better. If he really wanted to, Dean could push him back onto the blanket and have his way with him. But he didn't. For Castiel's sake.

"Dean," Cas gasped, pulling quickly away as Dean's fingers brushed dangerously close to the waistband of his boxers, "we can't do this  _here._ "

"Yeah, yeah, you're right," Dean sighed, reluctantly pulling back his hand. He chuckled softly and leaned forward, giving Castiel a quick peck on the lips.

Both kisses seemed so innocent, strange for a man as confident as Dean. A man like him should be kissing Castiel senseless, leaving him lightheaded and his lips numb, almost like he had done that day in the office. But then Cas thought about it, he  _really_ thought about it, and realized that he was the first person Dean had actually kissed. The  _only_ person he had ever kissed.

Castiel leaned back against Dean's chest, breathing out a deep sigh. He closed his eyes, enjoying the rise and fall of the other man's chest, listening to his heartbeat. 

There were many things he wanted out of life. Success, confidence, wealth- the kind of things most people wanted. But he was starting to think that there was one thing he wanted more than anything else, one thing he needed if he ever wanted to be happy.

And it was pressed up against his back, softly humming the tune to "Livin' On A Prayer".  _Dean._  

 


	7. I Can't Forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Love is a quiet “I can’t forget this." ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: **Sam gets handsy when he's drunk** and **sexy times**
> 
> So much angst... oops. Come over to [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual) yo
> 
>  
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

_Look at those assholes_ , Gabe thought with a smirk as he watched Dean and Castiel from across the room.

They were the stereotypical happy couple, all smiling faces and longing stares. Dean would occasionally reach out and gently rest his hand on top of Cas’s, causing the younger man’s cheeks to flush with embarrassment. He would then chuckle softly, squeezing Castiel’s hand before pulling away, emerald eyes full of pure adoration.

If it weren’t for the fact Gabe liked Cas, he probably wouldn’t be able to watch he and Dean together. He envied their relationship so much, to the point where it physically hurt. They were just another one of the many couples that visited the coffee shop, but there was something different about them. Even if they didn’t know it- and he felt like they probably didn’t- they were in love. Any idiot with eyes could see that.

But him? Oh no, he wasn’t that lucky. He wasn’t being asked on romantic dates or being kissed like something to be treasured or being stared at like he was the only thing that mattered in this world. No one loved him.

And it made sense, honestly. He was short, much too short for most men. His eyes were brown, but not the beautiful chocolate brown that people seemed to favor. His lips weren’t thick and kissable. He wasn’t very muscular,  only subtly toned from the few times he managed to get to the gym or go for a run. He was stubborn, sarcastic, overbearing, obnoxious- the most unappealing qualities he could think of.

So no, he didn’t have anyone to call his own. And as he turned to face Sam’s seated figure near the front of the shop, he remembered why he hadn’t been actively searching for someone, recalling the one time he had almost had a relationship. The worst thing that, as of now, had ever happened to him.

 

* * *

 

"That was delicious," Sam moaned, draping his arm lazily across Gabe’s shoulders.

"God yeah," Gabe agreed, shifting closer to Sam as they walked along, “that burger was so fucking good."

They were walking along the sidewalk,  heading home after eating dinner at the popular restaurant, Rapheal’s. It was Sam’s favorite and was known for its steaks, even though everything else there was absolutely delicious as well. To Gabe’s delight, the atmosphere wasn’t that fancy, but the white tablecloths and intricate candle centerpieces made it feel vaguely romantic.

"It looked like it," Sam replied, pulling his car keys out of his pocket, “and that chicken on my salad? Damn."

Gabe chuckled weakly, struggling to hide his anxiety. They hadn’t discussed where they were going after dinner, and now here they were, heading towards Sam’s car with no destination in mind.

“Everything there is perfect," Gabe insisted, spotting Sam’s car only a few feet away, “it’s a fact."

Sam nodded his head enthusiastically, leading them towards his car, a jet black BMW sedan parked along the street. Gabe felt sick, staring at his frightened reflection in the shining metal, illuminated by a nearby streetlight.

"Well, here we are," Sam sighed, removing his arm from around Gabe’s shoulder and casually leaning against the driver’s side door. His eyes raked over Gabe’s short figure, coming to rest on his face.

"Yep," Gabe replied, popping the “p" at the end. He glanced down, watching his feet as he nervously shifted his weight. He was too worried to look at Sam, to meet his pitying stare. He knew he was going to suggest dropping him off at his house, leaving him to sulk in his room for the rest of the night.

"So," Sam drawled, slowly running his fingers across the door handle, “I thought I could take you back home now."

Of course, just as he’d suspected. He was right yet again.

"And then I thought we could maybe hang out a little bit," Sam finished quickly, his lips quirking up into a hesitant smile.

 _Hold the fuck up_.

"Really?" Gabe croaked, eyes widening. Had Sam Winchester just invited himself over to his house?

"I mean, only if you want to," Sam replied softly, looking almost shy as he quickly averted his gaze, watching his fingers glide across the smooth metal of the door handle. It sounded more like a question than a command, as if he actually thought Gabe would turn his offer down.

"Sure!" Gabe cried, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice, “that sounds great!"  
                                                     
Sam smiled, that wide grin that lit up his face, that brightened everything around him. Gabe could feel its warmth in the pit of his chest, a beacon of hope in the midst of all of his self-loathing.

"Great," he trilled excitedly, stepping away from the door and grabbing a hold of Gabe’s wrist, “let’s go then!"

He tugged him toward the passenger side door, yanking it open and gesturing for him to climb in. He looked like an ecstatic child, bouncing on his feet and slamming the door shut after Gabe crawled in, clearly in a frenzied rush to leave.

The driver’s side door flew open, revealing Sam’s lanky figure, crouching down as he settled into the leather seat. He glanced over at Gabe, beaming at him with a mischievous glint in his hazel eyes.

Gabe smiled back at him, his heart pounding in his chest, ready to burst right out of his ribcage. He then turned away, focusing intently on the road ahead, lined by buildings with flashy neon signs. He needed to calm down, to make sure he kept his cool. He was normally pretty smooth with the guys (and occasional ladies), but Sam was different, he was the exception. The first man he had ever really had feelings for.  
                          
They rode in silence, Gabe staring out the window while Sam tapped out a random beat on the steering wheel. To him, it felt like a heavy silence, charged with the words both men were too hesitant to say. Normally, he was incredibly talkative, rambling about just anything if you let him. But something about Sam’s excitement kept him from speaking, set him on edge.

He could see his apartment building off in the distance, a four story brick structure tucked between another apartment complex and a small pawn shop. Not very far away sat the part of town where the upper middle class lived, a street filled with large, ornate homes with fenced yards and long driveways occupied by three or four luxury cars. Gabe’s apartment building was intended for the average middle class citizen, the ones who didn’t have enough to move into the wealthier area a few blocks down. However, Gabe had the nicest and most spacious apartment in the entire building.

"Nice place," Sam remarked, carefully pulling into an empty spot along the street.

"I guess," Gabe sighed, reaching down to unbuckle his seat belt. He knew that Sam was fairly wealthy and lived not far away, in the section of town where he wanted to live. He’d never seen the Winchesters’ house, but he had a pretty good idea of what it’d be like. And his shitty little apartment probably paled in comparison.

Sam climbed out of the car and ran around to his side of the car, eagerly opening the door for him. He swung his arm to the side, mimicking a chauffeur dropping his passenger off. If it were anyone else, it would’ve seemed ridiculous, but it was Sam. He made the gesture seem cute as hell.

He grinned back at Sam’s looming figure and gave a quick nod of his head, shifting so that he could step out of the car. Except the sidewalk just so happened to be farther away then he’d anticipated.

Mr. Calm and Collected started to trip as he stepped out of the car, heading straight for the harsh black pavement below. Suddenly, he felt something grab his upper arm, tugging him to his feet.

He stared up into Sam’s concerned face, golden brown eyes meeting brilliant olive green and dark brown eyes. Gabe turned his head, looking down at Sam’s iron grip on his arm. His hands were huge, wrapped securely around his bicep. He swallowed, pushing back thoughts of what those hands could do.

"Are you okay, man?" Sam asked, voice thick with worry.

"Yeah," Gabe insisted weakly, straightening up, “yeah, the road just decided to be a bitch and sink down a little lower."

Sam chuckled, removing his arm and patting Gabe affectionately on the back. 

"That damn road," he growled theatrically, stepping onto the sidewalk and beckoning Gabe to do the same. He obeyed, quickly joining Sam.

"Now, let’s get up upstairs," Sam announced, grabbing Gabe’s hand without warning and dragging him along in the direction of his apartment building. He was practically running, pulling him along as if he weighed nothing.

The moment they set foot inside the building, Sam was yanking him up the stairs, taking two steps at a time in his haste. Gabe wanted to ask why he was in such a rush, why he was laughing. Was his apartment really that exciting? He didn't think so.

Four flights of stairs later, they stood in front of the door to Gabe's apartment. They both stood staring at it, breathing heavily and trying to catch their breath. Gabe quickly reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys, shoving it into the lock and twisting it. The door unlocked with a satisfying little click, opening just the slightest bit as Gabe gave it a gentle push.

His apartment really wasn't anything that extravagant. In front of them was the living room, with its cream-colored walls and hardwood floor. A flat screen television was propped up on a low table in front of a black, L-shaped couch. A single painting of the morning sky hung on the wall behind the couch, his only painting, and a sliding door that led out to a small porch was on the side of the room directly across from where they currently stood.

Off to the left was the kitchen, a decently sized room with light gray linoleum floors, dark cabinets, and a sleek-looking silver refrigerator pushed up against the wall. A round table with four chairs sat in the middle of the room, decorated with a little potted plant as the centerpiece. It had a very homey feel, just as Gabe wanted it to have.

And finally, there was the bedroom. To the right, the door to his room was open just enough to get a glimpse of the dark red walls and large mattress, connected to a chestnut bed stand and covered by thick black and white sheets.  _That's the room where the magic happens_ , Gabe thought with a smirk.

"So," he drawled, stepping through the threshold, "this is home. It's not really that great, but I guess it-  _umph_!"

Gabe hadn't even heard Sam come up behind him, and he certainly hadn't expected to be flipped around and wrapped in a set of impressively strong arms. But here he was, with a hand buried in his hair and another pressed against the small of his back. A set of warm, soft lips were crushed against his own, catching the gasp that slipped from his mouth.

His brain short circuited, only able to think one thing: Sam was kissing him, he was  _actually_  kissing him. And not in that hesitant or shy way that was generally associated with a first kiss. It was passionate and hungry, causing Gabe's head to spin.

It was the kiss he had always dreamed of sharing with Sam, the kiss that he had so desperately been waiting for. He eagerly fisted his hands in the thin fabric of the taller man's red shirt, pulling him closer, their bodies now flush. He could feel the firm muscles of Sam's chest, the light stroking of his fingers as they carded through his hair, the pressure of his nimble fingers on his lower back.

Gabe eagerly licked at Sam's lips and stood on his toes, tilting his head to find just the right angle. He wanted to deepen the kiss, to feel the stroke of the taller man's tongue along the inside of his mouth, to taste him. Sam responded just as he had hoped, moaning softly and parting his lips.

God, he felt like he was on fire. Heat, delicious heat everywhere, sinking into his bones. He wanted more, he wanted to know what those lips would feel like against his neck, his chest, his belly, his inner thighs, down, down, covering every inch of his skin.

Suddenly, Sam pulled away, staring back at Gabe's flustered face with swollen lips and dilated pupils. He looked like he had just run a marathon, his chest heaving and his face red from exertion.

"Your bedroom," he growled, reaching down and wrapping his hands around Gabe's thighs. He gasped, watching Sam with wide eyes as he easily lifted his body, moving his legs so that they wrapped tightly around his waist.

He slowly made his way towards Gabe's room, staring deeply into his eyes as he pushed open the door. There was so much desire in his hooded gaze, so much longing.

Carefully, he lowered Gabe onto the plush mattress, resting his head on a pillow to cushion his fall. He continued to watch him intently, climbing onto the bed and moving so that he straddled his thin hips. He reached for the hem of Gabe's shirt, licking his lips in anticipation as he began to pull it over the other man's head.

"Yes," Sam purred, throwing the shirt off to the side as his eyes raked over Gabe's exposed upper body. He ran his hands slowly up Gabe's chest, teasing his nipples, humming his approval as the other man arched his back and moaned.

He slowly leaned down, gently pressing his lips to the tender skin of Gabe's neck. His fucking lips were positively sinful, applying just the right pressure in just the right places. He trailed kisses down his chest, running his fingertips along his sides, sending shivers down his spine.

He made quick work of Gabe's pants, undoing the zipper and button before pulling them down his legs. They joined his shirt on the floor, carelessly tossed to the side. Sam's own clothing followed not long after, creating a small pile of discarded clothes on the floor beside the bed.

Gabe gazed in amazement at Sam's chest, the muscular planes of his abs and the barely visible trail of golden brown hair leading down to the waistband of his boxers. He wouldn't be exaggerating if he said his body was perfect, all 6'4" of him. A couple stray strands of hair hung down in front of his face,  brushing against his nose, the strands he normally pushed out of the away now long forgotten.   

Before he could even draw in another shaky breath, Sam was leaning back in, pressing his surprisingly hard erection against Gabe's. His hips began to move in slow, lazy circles, pushing him down into the mattress, so fucking strong. The combination of his lips and his gyrations was so overwhelming, causing Gabe's eyes to roll back in his head, a loud groan of pleasure slipping past his lips.

"Sam," he gasped, his self control rapidly slipping away, " _please_."

"I've got you," Sam growled against his lips, reluctantly leaning back, "where's the-"

"Top drawer," Gabe whimpered pitifully, pointing towards the bedside table, "fuck, _hurry_."

"Patience," Sam purred, reaching over and pulling the lube easily from the drawer. Gabe watched in rapt fascination as he squirted a decent amount into his hands, pulling down his boxers to reveal his erection.

"Oh," he whispered, eyes intently focused on Sam's hands, the way he stroked himself, precome dripping down over his fingers. His head was leaned back, whimpering in pleasure. Oh fuck, he better get on with it already before Gabe couldn't hold back anymore.

" _Please_ , Sam-"

But that's all he managed to say, his mouth left gaping open, the words caught in his throat. Sam had slipped down his boxers and already had one finger inside of him, pushing in slowly. Gabe lost the ability to think, to speak, to do  _anything_. Because the only thing that mattered right now was that Sam's fingers were so fucking long.

"Fuck," he whined, flicking his eyes down to Sam, on his knees with his finger buried inside of him. It felt so fucking good, and it was only one finger.

Sam pulled his finger out, curling it as he withdrew it, causing Gabe to cry out. He whispered a string of curses under his breath before adding another finger, plunging two fingers inside of Gabe's hole. He felt like he was going to explode, clenching down on Sam's fingers as he carefully stretched him out, pushing in deep, deeper, up to his knuckles. Stars began to dance before Gabe's eyes, flashing, blurring his vision. On his final stroke, Sam purposely brushed against his prostrate, growling out his approval as Gabe cried out his name.

Gabe thought it couldn't get better, nothing could top the pleasure flooding his brain. But he was wrong, horribly wrong.

Without warning, Sam was suddenly inside of him. Not his fucking fingers, though. The real deal. And damn was it the most incredible thing he had ever experienced.

He was plunging in, filling him, making him whole again. With every thrust, Gabe could feel himself being pieced back together again, the shards of a broken man finally being reunited. Pushing, pulling, pushing- creating a steady rhythm with his hips, starting slow and then going faster, faster,  _so amazingly fast_. His lips were pressed firmly to his, pulling him even farther under, blinding him, shaking him to his very core.

"Sam, oh fuck, yes,  _yes_ ," he mewled, tightening his thighs around the taller man's hips, pushing him in even deeper, "I'm gonna- shit, I'm so close,  _please_!"

Sam removed his lips from Gabe's, leaning in and whispering softly in his ear in a breathy voice, "Gabriel..."

And that was it. White flashed before his eyes, a dazzling flash of brilliant white. It was beautiful.

Sam thrust a couple more times before filling Gabe, his body shaking with pleasure. He cried out Gabe's name loudly, and then softly laid himself down on the shorter man's spent body.

He pressed a soft kiss to Gabe's temple, lingering for a few blissful seconds before pulling away. He carefully pulled himself out of Gabe and rolled over to lay comfortably against the shorter man's side, pulling him in against his heaving chest.

Gabe closed his eyes, basking in the comforting warmth of Sam's arms wrapped around his waist. He could live in this moment, could stay here for the rest of his life.

"You're incredible, Gabriel," Sam whispered against the back of his head, pulling him just a little closer.

That was the moment Gabe fell in love with Sam Winchester.

 

* * *

 

Gabe’s eyes slowly cracked open, momentarily blinded by the sudden light flooding his vision. Where the hell was he? He remembered going to dinner with Sam, driving back to his house, running up the steps-  _oh fuck._

"You’re awake," a gravelly voice remarked from across the room. 

"Yeah, shit," Gabe muttered, pulling his arms out from beneath the covers and stretching them above his head, “what time is it?"

"5 a.m.," Sam mumbled, already in the process of tugging his jeans over his hips. His shirt was on, the loose red fabric draping off of his muscular chest.

"Seriously?" Gabe slurred, attempting to rub the sleep from his eyes, “What the fuck are you doing up already?"

Sam stopped, his fingers frozen on the button of his pants. He slowly lifted his head, meeting Gabe’s inquisitive stare and anxiously biting his lip. He looked like he had just been punched in the chest. This couldn’t be good.

"I…I have to go," he replied, his voice so quiet that Gabe almost missed it. He quickly averted his gaze once again, buttoning his pants and striding towards the bedside table. He refused to meet Gabe’s troubled gaze.

"I’m sorry, what?" Gabe cried, desperately trying to make sense of what he had just heard. Had Sam just said that he was  _leaving_?  _Now_?

"I have to leave," he reiterated, picking up his keys. He was making his way towards the door, stepping over Gabe’s discarded clothes still strewn across the floor. He was leaving, he was really fucking leaving.

"Wait!" Gabe yelled, sitting up in bed, ignoring the pain in his skull at the sudden movement, “You’re actually leaving? I thought we could eat some breakfast or something. I mean, I make a pretty mean omelette. Or we could always go down to the coffee shop and-"

"No," Sam snapped, turning around and effectively cutting off Gabe’s rambling, “I-I really do have to go. This-"

He pointed towards the bed, a pained expression on his face. Never before had Gabe seen him so hurt, so broken. It was frightening. 

"This," he whispered, each word filled with pain, “it was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking and I-I just…"

His lip was quivering, keeping him from finishing his sentence. Gabe couldn’t breathe, all of the air seeming to leave his lungs, escaping the horrified shell of a man he had become. Sam was going to leave him. After everything that happened, he was just going to leave him here, alone.

"I was wrong," he mumbled, “about what I did last night. About us."

"No, no, Sam," Gabe whimpered, shoving the covers off of his body and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He quickly got to his feet, almost tripping as he tried to stand on his shaky legs.

"I’m so sorry," Sam cried, his voice strained. He was going to cry, Gabe could tell. The bastard deserved it, he deserved to sob himself to sleep for the rest of his life. He came over, showed Gabe the best night of his life, and then said that he was wrong? That he was  _sorry_?

"Sam, please, you don’t understand," Gabe whined, striding across the room, fighting back tears as he moved, “this was only our first date! We can a-always try again-"

"Gabriel," he moaned, taking a step back as if he were scared of what the shorter man might do.  _Good_ , Gabe thought sourly,  _you should be scared. You should know what it’s like to be as fucking scared as I am right now._

"Sam, I promise," he urged, becoming more and more desperate, “this could work between us. I-I’m scared, too, but I just know that this could work. Fuck, please don’t leave me here,  _please._ ”

Sam looked like Gabe had just slapped him across the face. He shouldn’t feel sorry for the other man, he deserved to hurt. But, fuck, Gabe didn’t care. He couldn’t bring himself to hate him, even though it hurt so much. He had never experienced a more excruciating pain in his entire life.

"Listen to me," Sam whispered, a single tear slowly gliding down his cheek, “You have to forget this. Forget any of this ever happened."

Gabe whimpered, unable to open his mouth to respond. He was falling, falling down, down into the miserable side of himself that Sam had managed to actually chase away. He was no longer important, was nothing, worthless.

"But Sam-"

"Just forget," Sam begged, another tear spilling down his face. He shot him one more pleading and pitiful look and then turned away, throwing open the door and stepping through. It slammed shut behind him, sending a tremor through Gabe’s entire body. 

Gabe stared at the door, silently hoping that he would step back through. That he would come back and confess that he was being stupid and irrational. That he would run in and wrap him in a comforting embrace. That he would just walk back through that door and be there, with him.

"I can’t", he whispered, his quiet voice echoing off of the walls of his room, “I can’t forget this."

And three years later, he still couldn’t forget.


	8. Gabe Was Right

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Cas shows Dean just how special he thinks he is ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: even more **sexy times** wow and some **self-loathing**. This fic is full of self-loathing, though, so, uh...
> 
> Weeeee, it's smut time! Talk to me on [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual), okay?
> 
>  
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

Castiel wasn’t usually a violent person. He was level-headed, and he never found himself wanting to hurt another person. If he was going to get upset with anyone, it was going to be himself. But this? This was the exception. 

"I was ri-ight, I was ri-ight!" Gabe cheered, skipping around behind the counter like a damn schoolgirl on the playground. He had been singing the same thing all morning, and Cas had just about had it.

"Would you shut up already?" Castiel growled, slamming a steaming cappuccino down on the counter, “I think I got it the hundredth time you said it."

"Probably but I really could care less because I was right," Gabe trilled, unfazed by the murderous glare Castiel was now shooting his way.

"Asshole," Cas muttered under his breath, picking the cappuccino back up before quickly walking away and handing it over to a tall, redheaded woman. Gabe had unfortunately followed him over, leaning against the counter with a smug smirk on his face.

"I am your boss, remember?" He reminded Castiel the moment the woman turned to leave.

"Yeah, I remember," Cas sighed, “but c’mon, man, would someone’s boss actually spend all morning singing about how he was right about them sharing a candlelit dinner with their boyfriend?"

Gabe shrugged, trying to appear like he was the innocent one in this situation. Which he sure as hell wasn’t.

"Maybe not," he admitted, “but I never said I was your typical boss, did I?"

Castiel rolled his eyes and turned away, reaching over and grabbing a rag to aimlessly scrub down the counter. He needed to do something to distract himself. From Gabe and especially from his “romantic dinner" later that night.

Yes, the smug bastard had been right after all. Before Dean had left, he had invited him over to dinner. At  _his house_. A dinner that he, _Dean Winchester,_ was going to prepare.

And now, Gabe wasn’t going to let him live it down, a fact that didn’t surprise Castiel in the least. Although he would never say anything, Cas had a pretty good idea of why his boss was taking it the way he was. It was simple- he was jealous.

Sam had continued to show up regularly, and Gabe seemed happy about it, of course, but there also seemed to be something bothering him. Whenever he didn’t think anyone was looking, he would get this pained expression on his face as if he had just been rejected.

Castiel had been wanting to ask him about it all week, but what the hell was he supposed to say? He didn’t even know what the guy’s problem was, and the last thing he wanted to do was bring up some sensitive subject that ended their tentative friendship.

But that was besides the point. The dinner was what was really important right now, and he knew that there was no way he could mess it up.

To Castiel’s relief, Gabe had walked away and was now with Sam, leaning against his table with a playful smirk on his face. The adoring glint in his boss’s eyes when he gazed at Sam was painful to see, filled with such an unfulfilled longing and desire. The taller man looked back at him with affection, but it wasn’t the same, wasn’t as intense. And the worst part was that Gabe didn’t seem to notice.  _Or maybe_ , Castiel thought sadly, _he just doesn’t care_.

The more Cas thought about it, the more he wondered if he and Dean were the same way. Did he look completely enamored by Dean when he stared at him? And how did the other man look when he stared back? Cas had always thought their passion was equally as intense, but now he was beginning to doubt himself.

Castiel’s mind was a cruel thing.

 

* * *

 

 _It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine_ , Cas struggled to convince himself, standing warily on the sidewalk in front of his dorm.

On any other night, the inky black sky and pinpoints of bright light would’ve captivated him, but not tonight. The darkness seemed to press in from every side, wrapping its ominous and foreboding tendrils around him, reeling him in and filling his head with negative thoughts.

Castiel folded his arms across his chest, glancing anxiously from side to side. No one at school knew he and Dean were dating-  _Jesus Christ, we’re actually dating_ \- and the other man would be there any minute to pick him up. Cas wanted to keep their relationship a secret, away from the prying eyes of his nosy friends and snarky classmates. He felt like he would be even more of an outcast if people found out he was dating a guy.

Suddenly, a silver BMW convertible turned the corner, heading straight for Castiel. He knew who it was immediately.  _Dean._

The convertible came to a halt right in front of Cas, whose eyes were wide and whose legs almost gave out at the sight of the expensive-looking vehicle. The engine purred, causing Castiel to jump a little, the sound further heightening his anxiety.

The window rolled down, revealing Dean Winchester’s excited, grinning face. His eyes raked over Cas, taking in his jeans, powder blue sweater vest, and white undershirt. Castiel had picked it out because it seemed appropriate to wear something somewhat fancy for dinner. And he always wore sweater vests when he wanted to look classy.

"Damn, Cas," Dean purred, whistling his approval, “you should wear that more often!"

Castiel blushed, purposely staring down at his feet in an attempt to ignore Dean’s penetrating stare. There was such a hungry look in the other man’s eyes, and for some reason, Cas felt like it was foreshadowing for what was to come. His insticts were screaming at him, telling him to run away because Dean was most certainly going to make a move tonight.

But he stood his ground. He could go through with this, whether Dean was expecting to… sleep with him or not. They had been dating for almost six weeks if you took into account the week before they actually kissed for the first time. That was a long time, wasn’t it? From everything Castiel had seen and heard, Dean should’ve already jumped his bones by now. But he hadn’t. Because that perfect son of a bitch was sticking to his promise, to his commitment to taking things slow.

"Aw, stop blushing and get your cute little ass over here," Dean called, gesturing for him to come over, “I don’t wanna eat dinner too late!"

 _There it is_ , Cas thought, his imagination gladly providing a vivid image of Dean throwing their dinner aside, pushing him onto the table, and pressing his lips hungrily to his skin. Dean wanted to have enough time after dinner so that they could… oh God, he really hoped he could go through with this.

"Cas, baby, what are you doing just standing there?" Dean chuckled, catching the younger man off guard with the pet name he had recently given him.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry," Castiel muttered, shuffling over to the passenger side door and quickly climbing in, “and don't call me that! Anyways, what did you expect? You pull up in  _this,_  and I just-  _wow_."

Dean laughed, throwing his head back and letting out a loud chuckle. Cas loved it when he laughed like that, throwing his whole body into it, such an easy and honestly happy sound that made him feel oddly at home. 

"She’s pretty impressive," he admitted, flashing Castiel one of his cocky little smirks, “but you should see the beauty I have back at home. I’ll take you out in a drive in  _her_  one day, and you’ll never look at this car the same way again."

Cas rolled his eyes, trying to imagine what kind of car could possibly be better than this one. The fucking thing probably had a built-in swimming pool or something. 

"I’m sure she’s something," Cas replied cheekily, turning to face Dean with his own mischievous grin, “just like you."

"You’re too sweet," Dean laughed, turning the ignition with an easy twist of his fingers, “I wish I was as special as my Baby."

"Your Baby? I thought I was your baby!" Cas cried, glaring at him playfully.

"You are, you are!" Dean reassured him, raising his hands off of the steering wheel and motioning for him to calm down, “but I also have my  _Baby,_ the best car a guy could ever ask for."

"Well, shit, Dean," Castiel gasped mockingly, “why don’t you just have dinner with your car then?"

"You know, Cas," Dean chuckled, finally pressing down on the gas pedal, “I never thought you were this sassy when I first met you."

"Well," the younger man sighed, shrugging his shoulders, “now you know."

"Yeah, I guess I do," Dean sighed, glancing over at Cas with a lazy smile.

He suddenly reached over, grabbing Castiel’s left hand and interlacing their fingers. He rested their clasped hands on the console between their seats, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. Although Dean swore up and down that he wasn’t a romantic, Cas knew the truth, knew that it was a load of bullshit. Because big, bad Dean Winchester loved to hold hands.

When they shared their daily coffee, Dean would reach across the table and intertwine their fingers. When they had gone to the park that day, their hands, clasped tightly together, swung easily between them as they walked. When they had visited the supermarket one day because Cas had run out of milk, Dean even held his hand as they strode down the aisles. It was as if he couldn’t live without the pressure of the younger man’s hand in his, worried that it was the only thing keeping Castiel from running away.

"You know you love it," Cas replied softly, basking in the warmth of Dean’s emerald gaze.

 

* * *

 

 _Okay, this is starting to get a little ridiculous_ , Castiel decided, staring up at Dean’s house in wonder.

Yet again, Dean had managed to inadvertently surprise Cas. First, he had been shocked when he asked for his number. Then, he had been floored by Dean’s office building, towering over him and making him feel insignificant. And that fucking picnic in the park, the perfect romantic date, straight from a movie.

"This is your house?" Castiel cried, turning in his seat to look at the other man. Dean just nodded, chuckling softly at Cas’s reaction. How was he so calm about this? He lived in a mansion!

The Winchesters’ house was surrounded by an expansive yard, all lush green grass with a single tree, a gorgeous weeping willow, looming over the driveway. The driveway was fairly long, leading straight to a spacious garage, occupied by three other cars. The house was two stories tall and surprisingly wide, painted an elegant white color. An awning was built along the front of the house, held up by four, thick pillars. The roof was covered in black tiles, and the windows were rectangular with small windowsills. Bushes lined a thin pathway from the driveway to a set of steps leading up to the door, a tall wooden one painted black. The house fit the sleek, classic look of the two Winchester brothers.   

"It sure is," Dean trilled, glancing up into the branches of the weeping willow as they passed beneath it, “home sweet home."

"Son of a bitch," Castiel whispered, completely at a loss for words. He had always dreamed of living in a place like this, a place that begged you to come through its gorgeous front door and stay for a while, curled up in a plush chair as you gazed out the window at the beautiful world outside.

Dean pulled the car into the driveway, parking next to a much older looking vehicle. Although it wasn’t as new as the convertible, there was still something about it that was unmistakably sexy.

"Oh, and there’s my Baby," Dean cooed, gesturing at the other car before pulling out the keys from the ignition, “a 1967 Impala, the car that you’re so jealous of."      

Now that Castiel saw the car, he had to admit he understood why Dean loved it so much. It was positively stunning in its own way.                    

"I can see why you love her so much," Castiel admitted, unbuckling his seat belt and pushing open the door, “she’s beautiful."

"Damn right she is!" Dean replied proudly, slamming his door shut as he stepped out of the car. Castiel shut his own door, frozen in place as he continued to gape at The Winchester Mansion.

Dean came around to stand by his side, reaching down and grabbing Castiel’s hand as he always did. Cas glanced down at their hands, unable to stop his lips from turning up into a little smile.

"Now, let’s get inside so I can show you just how good of a cook I really am," Dean teased, lightly tugging the younger man along as he headed towards the narrow pathway leading to the door. Castiel eagerly obliged, walking along, trying to keep up with the other man’s pace.

Dean excitedly threw open the door and motioned for Cas to step through the threshold, bowing theatrically.

"You’re such a-"

The final word would forever be stuck in Castiel’s throat. _Well, what do you know_ , he thought,  _another surprise_.

The first thing he noticed was the chandelier dangling from the ceiling, its hanging crystals refracting dazzling white light across the cream-colored walls. A wide, marble staircase lined the right wall, leading up to the second story. The floor was also marble, illuminated by the intricate chandelier above. A low table lined the other wall, covered in several framed pictures.

Off to the right was what looked like the living room. An immense plasma screen television hung on the far wall, set up in front of a leather, semi circular couch. A glass table was arranged between the television and the couch. The room was furnished with hardwood floors and maroon walls, clearly the room intended for sitting around and watching television.

Then, off to the left was the dinning room. The room Dean was currently dragging him towards.

This room also had hardwood floors, and the walls were painted a creamy white. A long, walnut table with six chairs sat in the middle of the room, decorated with two tall candles and a small vase containing a single rose as the centerpiece. The plates, silverware, and wine glasses were already in place, neatly arranged with a folded cloth sitting on each plate. A bottle of what appeared to be a Chardonnay was also set out, ready to be uncorked and drank.

"Here we go," Dean announced, pulling Cas towards the nearest chair, “you can just sit here while I whip us up some dinner. I’m obviously a professional so it shouldn’t take me that long."

Castiel rolled his eyes but obeyed, taking a seat as Dean pulled out the chair for him. He shifted a little, making himself comfortable, doubting that Dean could cook them something in less than thirty minutes.

"Sure," Cas drawled, tilting his head back so that he could stare up at Dean, “the perfect combination of lawyer and chef."

"You know it," Dean purred, leaning down to place a quick kiss on Castiel’s lips. He hummed softly into his mouth before pulling away, laughing when Cas tried to follow his retreating lips with a disappointed little whimper. Dean winked at the younger man, ignoring his frustrated pout, and strutted in the direction of a doorway which Castiel assumed led to the kitchen.

"You’ll love it, Cas!" he called, his voice slightly muffled by the wall separating them, “it’s my favorite thing to make!"

Castiel wanted to reply with some clever retort, keeping up with their playful banter, but he felt like now was the wrong time. Dean seemed so thrilled to be cooking for him, that childish excitement Cas loved showing through again.

"I bet it’ll be delicious!" he agreed, speaking loudly so that the other man could hear him.

And he meant it.

 

* * *

 

"Oh my God," Castiel moaned, popping another plump meatball into his mouth.

"Good, right?" Dean asked, smirking at him from across the table, wine glass in hand.   
             
“God yes," Cas mumbled, struggling to talk as he chewed, “this is delicious."

Dean chuckled, his lips pressed to the rim of his glass as he took a sip of wine. Cas couldn’t help but watch the way his lips looked as he drank, the clear liquid gliding across them and down his throat.

"And you somehow remembered that my favorite kind of wine," Castiel continued, lifting his own glass to his lips,"is a Chardonnay."

Dean shrugged, setting his glass back on the table. He always seemed so confident, as if he always knew the right thing to do or say.

"Well," he drawled, picking up his fork, spinning it so that spaghetti noodles wrapped around the tongs, “I figured that since you have to remember my favorite type of coffee, I could do the same for you. With wine."

Cas felt warmth rush to his face, the beginnings of a flush reddening his cheeks. It was moments like this that reminded him why he- no,  _no_ , he couldn’t think about that. That four-letter word was an angry, cruel beast, patiently waiting to sink its claws into him, only to tear away his flesh when it left.

"Wow," Cas replied softly, “that’s really sweet of you, Dean. You didn’t have to do that."

"No, I didn’t  _have_ to. I wanted to. And it’s the right-"

"No, Dean, really-"

"Dammit, Cas, stop that," Dean interjected, a sharpness to his voice.

"Stop what?" Cas wondered, cocking his head to the side. He wasn’t used to Dean being upset with him.

"That thing you do," Dean pleaded, “the way you feel like people shouldn’t do anything special for you. Like you don’t deserve it or something."

His throat felt tighter, like someone had wrapped their fingers around his neck with the intent to choke him. A small gasp slipped past his lips, hanging in the air between them, an air marred by a thick and unnerving silence.

"Dean-"

"No, I’m serious," Dean growled, dropping his fork, still wrapped in spaghetti, “you’re too fucking special to think that. You deserve every single thing that I’ve done for you. And every compliment I’ve given you."            

Castiel stared at him, biting his lip, completely overwhelmed. Dean spoke with such passion, such conviction. He believed what he said, that much was obvious.

"No one has ever said they thought I was special before," Cas whispered, gazing down at the noodles on his plate, the way they tangled together, buried beneath meatballs and rich tomato sauce.

"Well, they should," Dean replied vehemently, leaning forward in his seat, “I don’t know how they can’t! You’re smart, funny, attractive- a better man than I could ever dream of being!"

Castiel’s head shot up, shaking from side to side in disagreement.

"Don’t say that, Dean," Cas begged, “you’re an incredible person."

Dean opened his mouth to speak, pain flashing in his eyes, but then froze. His lips turned up into a weak smile.

"Agree to disagree," he replied with a nervous chuckle, picking his fork back up again.

"You can’t do that," Cas sighed, spearing another meatball on his fork, “you can’t say all of that nice shit to me, and then turn around and put yourself down."

Dean stopped, a long noodle dangling from his mouth. If it were any other situation, Castiel probably would’ve laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

"I don’t know, you act all cocky and confident, but then you go and," Cas hesitated, watching Dean suck up the noodle with his brow furrowed, “and say little things that make me think you don’t feel that way about yourself at all. Like maybe you actually… have really low self-esteem like me."

Dean finished the noodle and sighed, reaching his hands up to rub his temples. Cas wondered if he’d hit a nerve, that just maybe he had uncovered Dean’s greatest secret. He knew a lot about the other man, but at the same time, he didn’t.

"Listen, Cas," Dean began, “no one knows about this except for Sammy, you got it?"

Castiel nodded eagerly, his curiosity officially piqued.

"Alright," the other man sighed, placing his elbows on the table, and leaned in even closer, “you’re right, I actually have some pretty damn low self-esteem. And I wish I could tell you why, I really do, but I just can’t. That’s why I’ve never told anyone, because I know they’ll want an explanation. But I just can’t give them a good one."

Cas felt his heart slowly shattering into a million pieces, every word out of Dean’s mouth breaking him apart. It was a confession, something that practically no one knew. Yes, he did want an explanation, but for Dean’s sake, he wouldn’t push for it.

"I’m sorry, Dean," Castiel answered honestly, setting the fork back down on his plate, his meatball long forgotten, “I wish that there was some way I could make you see how amazing you really are."

"It’s okay," Dean assured him, taking a quick sip from his wine glass before continuing, “you don’t have to do anything at all. You’ve already done enough for me."

 _Well, that answer’s just not good enough_ , Cas thought, his mind desperately grasping at ideas. There had to be  _something_ he could do. And then it him.

"Dean…" he muttered, pushing his chair back so that he could stand, “I think I know what I can do for you."

Dean watched him as he stood, looking completely and utterly confused. Cas slowly approached him, staring intently into his eyes, sliding his fingertips across the smooth wood of the table as he walked closer.  _You can do this_ , his mind encouraged.

"Really now?" Dean asked, fixing Castiel with his emerald gaze, “And what’s that?"

Instead of answering the other man, Cas tugged his chair out, loving the little gasp it elicited from him. Mustering up every ounce of courage he had, he lifted his one leg and slid onto Dean’s lap.

Dean’s eyes widened, staring up at Cas as if he didn’t know what the hell he was. It was strangely empowering to see Dean be the vulnerable one for once.

"Um, C-Cas," he stuttered, “this isn’t what I meant when I-"

"Shhh," Castiel purred, placing a finger over the other man’s lips, “I don’t care what you meant. This is what I’m going to do for you."

"But-"

"Yes, I want this," Cas assured him, running his fingers down Dean’s chest, “the real question is- do you?"

“ _Fuck_ , Cas," Dean moaned, frantically grasping at the back of Castiel’s neck, pulling him in and claiming his lips. The kiss was hungry, much hungrier than most of their kisses in the past. 

Cas eagerly melted against Dean, grasping at the fabric of his white button-down shirt. His lips were pliable, anxious to be parted and dominated. He sighed softly into Dean’s mouth, using the firm grip on his shirt to pull him in even closer.

Suddenly, Dean pulled away, his fingers flying down to the hem of Castiel’s sweater vest. He pulled it over the other man’s head, tossing it onto the floor a few feet away. Cas’s undershirt followed shortly after, exposing his bare chest to Dean’s wandering mouth and fingers.

Dean leaned back in, pressing his lips hungrily to Castiel’s collarbone, trailing kisses down his chest, licking and teasing his nipples. Cas gasped, digging his fingers into Dean’s hair, fingernails lightly scratching his scalp. The other man moaned against his skin, bringing his hand down to Castiel’s pants, cupping his hardening cock through his jeans.

Those lips, those fucking lips, pressed against his skin, leaving delicious heat in their wake. That impossibly large palm pressed against the crotch of his jeans, rubbing up and down, a glorious source of friction, giving him exactly what he wanted. He wanted to know what that hand would feel like wrapped around his bare cock, twisting and sliding. 

"Fuck, Dean," Cas groaned, pressing his hips down, “we need to-  _shit_ \- we need to get to the bedroom."

"Mhm," Dean hummed, reluctantly leaning back. He looked wild, his hair ruffled, his lips swollen and red, the stunning green of his eyes reduced to a thin ring, blotted out by the inky blackness of his dilating pupils.

Castiel quickly jumped off of Dean’s lap, excitedly grasping his wrists, tugging him up onto his feet. The other man chuckled, the sound more gravelly than usual, sending a shiver down Cas’s spine. He could only imagine what his voice would sound like, hearing him cry out his name in that husky tone.

"Upstairs?" Cas croaked, already dragging Dean in the direction of the steps.

"Yes, fuck,  _hurry_ ," Dean gasped, turning his wrists and fingers so that he was the one gripping Castiel’s hands, easily yanking him up the stairs. Cas felt giddy, like he was floating on a cloud, gliding up the stairs, nothing about his surroundings important enough to notice.

Before he knew it, they were running down a hallway, not a single detail catching his eye. He focused on the door at the end of the hall, the one Dean was pulling him towards, the one that led to his bedroom. There were so many promises behind that door, promises of happiness, promises of passion.

They crashed into the door, Dean shoving it open as if it weighed nothing, ignoring the way it slammed against the wall behind it. Again, Cas had no idea what the room was like, other than the plush white blanket Dean was pushing him into.

Dean shifted, straddling the younger man’s hips, pressing their clothed cocks against each other. Castiel moaned loudly, arching his back, longing to increase the friction, to bring himself closer to toe-curling pleasure. Dean leaned down, sealing his lips to Cas’s, licking into his mouth, their tongues brushing.

"This isn’t fair," Cas panted, turning his head away, grappling at the buttons of Dean’s shirt. His fingers were shaking, making it almost impossible to unbutton the shirt, to reveal the smooth skin beneath. Dean chuckled softly, reaching between them to push Cas’s hands away. With surprising speed, he undid each button, tugging the shirt off of his arms before throwing it carelessly to the side.

"Better?" Dean purred, trailing his fingers down his bare chest, lingering on the firm muscles of his abdomen.

"Almost," Castiel growled, reaching out towards the zipper on Dean’s pants. They needed to go-  _now_.

"No, no, no," Dean scolded mockingly, knocking Cas’s fingers out of the way, “you first."

He moved his hands down to the zipper on Castiel’s jeans, slowly pulling it down, maddeningly slow. When he had managed to tug it all the way down, he muttered something that sounded like “son of a bitch" before gripping the waistband and pulling down. Cas’s pants soon joined Dean’s shirt on the floor, no longer needed.

Frantically, Castiel reached for Dean’s pants again, desperate to get them off. This time, the other man allowed him to, watching in fascination as Cas worked on the zipper, hesitantly pressing his hand to Dean’s length through his boxers. He gasped, thrusting his hips up into the touch. Castiel smiled, pleased with the reaction.

"Wait," Dean whimpered, lifting himself off of Cas’s hips. He pulled his pants off, yet again shocking Castiel with how fast he managed to undress himself. They landed on the floor with a satisfying little  _thwump_ , just another addition to the pile of discarded clothes beside the bed.

"Oh,  _shit_ ," Cas whined, his eyes rolling back in his head as Dean lowered himself back onto his hips, bringing their bare chests together, their cocks brushing against each other through the thin fabric of their boxers. Tendrils of warmth began to unfurl in the pit of Castiel’s belly, pushing him towards the edge.

"The boxers," he rasped, “the fucking boxers need to go."

"God yes," Dean whimpered, leaning back again. Both boxers hit the floor faster than any of the other articles of clothing, the desperate need to feel one another becoming more and more unbearable. Cas could feel how much they both wanted the contact, wanted  _this_.

Dean was back on him in seconds, bringing their achingly hard erections together, pushing his hips up. Castiel gasped, his fingers digging into the thick fabric of the covers beneath, struggling to find something to hold onto as he rode through his waves of pleasure.

"Dean!" Cas cried, jerking his hips up. He could feel that heat creeping across his skin, up to his face, down to his throbbing erection. It was so powerful, so overwhelming, that he could feel it in his bones, pushing its way beneath his skin. He had never felt so alive.

"I’m gonna take care of you," Dean panted, wrapping his hand around both of their cocks, whimpering at the slick, velvety feel of skin on skin. He quickly slid his hand up, moving it along with the thrust of his hips. He ran his thumb along both of their slits, gasping out Castiel’s name, bringing his hand back down and leaning his head back.

Just as Cas thought, the way Dean groaned his name in that wrecked voice was positively sinful, filling the air with its rich sound. He wanted to hear that same voice cry out his name so loudly that Dean’s neighbors would know it, would know that Castiel Novak belonged to Dean Winchester, that they were one in the same, an inseparable pair.

Dean’s hip movements were becoming more erratic, his hand moving over their erections in a frenzied rush, pulling, twisting. Castiel felt like his brain was melting, reduced to a pathetic, quivering mess. Dean’s whimpers, his hand, his hips, his warm skin, his slick cock- it was all that mattered, all that Cas could see, all that he could feel, could focus on.

"Dean, I think I-I’m gonna-  _fuck_ ," he whined, squeezing his eyes shut, the rest of his words caught in his throat. He hadn’t realized how much he needed this, this intimacy. It surpassed his wildest fantasies, full of more passion and pleasure than he could have ever imagined.

"It’s okay," Dean panted, leaning down, his lips brushing against Castiel’s ear as he spoke, “let it go. Let it all go."  
                                                 
And he did. Everything was suddenly white, blinding him, engulfing him. His toes curled and his body shook, the force of his orgasm completely overtaking him. The sensation was ineffable, an indescribable experience, like nothing he had ever felt before.

Dean thrust once more before he joined Cas in his state of insurmountable bliss, their come mixing together, slick against each of their bellies. He slumped against Castiel’s spent body, breathing heavily, his fingers shaking as he raised his hands to cup the other man’s face. He gazed down at him, his lust blown pupils staring straight into the little bit of cerulean blue still visible in Cas’s eyes.

"I can’t believe you think I’m  _that_  great," Dean whispered, his breath ghosting across the tender skin of Castiel’s neck.

Cas laughed, a weak little chuckle but genuine nonetheless. Because Dean would never know just how amazing Castiel thought he was.

 


	9. Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Cas completely redefine "the morning after" ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Jo has a bit of a potty mouth
> 
> Sorry this took me so long! Head over to [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual)!
> 
>  
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

Tingling. A gentle, warm feeling tracing its way across his skin, dancing along his arms, his legs, his chest. It was a new and certainly welcome sensation, one that enveloped Castiel in its comforting embrace. And the only thing he could think about was whether this was the way it always felt.   
                                                  
Cas had seen many people scurry out of rooms ridiculously early in the morning, their eyes scanning the hallway once, twice, maybe even three times before they shuffled quickly down the steps and out of the building. Guilt and shame were written all over their faces, the faces of people who were just beginning to realize the consequences of their actions. And then there were the rare few who seemed reluctant to leave, as if they wanted to stay, to try and start a real relationship.

But Castiel didn’t feel like he fit into either of those scenarios. When he had woken up, Dean was still there, his arms secured tightly around Cas’s midsection. He hadn’t left him in the middle of the night, and Castiel had no motivation or desire to leave Dean either. It was nothing like what he had observed in the past, so much happier and more peaceful.

Now here he was, staring out the window of Dean’s car, on the way back to his dorm, an unashamed smile on his lips. The sound of classic rock- Dean’s favorite- washed over him, exciting him. He had done it, he had actually done it! For Dean, he had faced one of his greatest fears. And Castiel knew that without him, if it had been anyone else, it would’ve been impossible. 

"Alright, Cas," Dean sighed, bringing the car to a stop along the sidewalk, “looks like we’re here."

Castiel hadn’t even noticed they were so close to his dorm. From the moment he climbed out of Dean’s bed and dressed himself, time had seemed to pass by in a blur, as if he had unknowingly slipped into some fantasy world, some carefully hidden paradise.

"Yep," Cas replied softly, turning in his seat to face the other man, “looks like it."

Dean stared at him for several seconds, his eyes flicking down to Castiel’s lips. Slowly, he leaned in, lightly setting his hand on the other man’s thigh as he moved. Cas basked in the moment, the way Dean’s eyelashes fluttered before they closed, the way his freckles stood out at this proximity, the way his lips softened. It sent Castiel’s brain into a frenzy, only one thought on his mind:  _He was one lucky son of a bitch_.  
                                  
Their lips met, noses lightly brushing as they tilted their heads, finding just the right angle. It was a chaste kiss, Dean offering just a little pressure, humming his approval against Castiel’s lips. Cas reached out, trailing his fingertips down from Dean’s shoulder to his wrist, resting his hand there, rubbing his thumb across the other man’s pulse point. His skin was so soft, his lips so pliant, his touch so careful. The way he kissed Castiel made him feel like a precious, fragile object that could easily break apart at any moment.

Reluctantly, Dean pulled away, leaning back slowly. If Cas hadn't been in a rush to get back to his dorm, he probably would’ve yanked the other man closer and kissed him again, this time with more fervor and passion. It sure as hell was tempting.

"I’ll see you tomorrow morning," Cas assured him, squeezing Dean’s wrist before pulling his hand away.     
                                                           
“Damn right you will," Dean replied softly, a hopeful smile on his face, “bye, Cas."

"Bye," Castiel whispered, pushing open his door and stepping out onto the black pavement. Even as he walked away, he continued to stare into Dean’s eyes, holding his gaze. The last thing he wanted to do was leave.

He stood on the sidewalk, one of Dean’s spare bags tucked under his arm. Dean watched him for a few more seconds before he reluctantly rested his hands on the steering wheel. He rolled up the window, winked at Castiel with a lazy grin on his face, and then drove away, leaving the younger man alone. Cas watched the silver car leave, staring at its retreating shape longingly, wishing that it would turn around and come back for him.

His dorm paled in comparison to the lavish warmth and comfort of the Winchester’s home. As he walked up to the front door, sliding his key card into the little slot, the reality of what had just happened began to sink in. He pushed open the door, his mouth gaping.  _He had slept with Dean Winchester._  He had actually slept with someone, the only person he had come to really care about in a long time.

He slowly made his way up the stairs, not exactly thrilled to return to his lonely little dorm room. When he reached his room, he slipped inside and threw himself down on his couch. It was nothing like the plush mattress in Dean’s room, and it didn’t carry his familiar scent either.

Castiel sighed, settling deeper into the cushions. Maybe he could watch something on television, distract himself from the fact-

_Knock, knock, knock._

Cas jumped, nearly tripping as he got to his feet. Who the hell was at his door this early in the morning?

"Hello?" he called hesitantly, fear coursing its way through his veins. The worst scenarios began to invade his mind. What if one of the jocks had seen Dean drop him off and had followed him up to his room?

"It’s me, you little shit," a feminine voice replied angrily, “open the door before I bust it down. You have a lot of explaining to do."

He sighed heavily, shaking his head. It wasn’t the best situation, but it could be worse.  _Jo._

* * *

 

Jo Harvelle. There were so many things that Castiel could say about Jo, his one true friend, that he wouldn’t even know where to begin. He had known her since he was in 9th grade, an awkward high school freshman in desperate need of someone to confide in. At first, she had been reluctant to talk to him. He wasn’t exactly popular, and yet there she was, the beautiful blonde with the attitude and personality of an easygoing guy. People loved her, loved her down-to-earth nature. That is, until she befriended Cas.

He still struggled to believe that she had given up her reputation to be with him. In the beginning, he had thought she had only chosen to talk to him because she pitied him. But after a while, especially when she began scolding him for not standing up to others, he realized that wasn’t it at all. She spent almost every waking hour with him their sophomore year, showing up unexpectedly with some crazy mission in mind. They became an inseparable pair, “the dynamic duo" as Jo liked to call them. And even though she could be stubborn and a pain in the ass sometimes, he still loved her.

"Okay, what the hell?" she cried, throwing herself down onto the couch as if she owned the place, “I show up to ask if you wanna have a movie night again, and I see you getting out of a fucking silver BMW with a male model at the wheel?"

Castiel blushed, hesitantly joining the blonde on the couch. He tried to avoid her fiery gaze, frustration emanating from her golden brown eyes. There was nothing worse than an angry Jo.

"I, um," he mumbled, “I was going to tell you about that."

"Oh!" she cried, chuckling mockingly, “and when were you going to do that? When you finally decided to bring your new boyfriend home to meet mommy Jo?"

Castiel rolled his eyes, turning reluctantly to face his friend. She was dressed in a loose salmon-colored shirt and her favorite pair of dark wash jeans. Whatever movie she was planning on watching with him must be one neither of them already had. She looked like she was ready to go out somewhere, maybe the video store. 

"No," he snapped, straightening up, “I was just going to tell you the next time I saw you. Which is- well, what do you know- right now."

"Dammit Cas," she sighed, poking him in the chest, “you’re lucky I like you. I wouldn’t let just anyone keep a secret like that from me."

Cas smiled smugly, pushing her finger away.  

"I know," he replied with a shrug, “It’s hard to get mad at little ole’ me, huh?"

"Oh shut up," Jo chuckled, shoving him playfully, “just tell me the story already before I change my mind and punch you in the face."

"Fine, fine," Castiel joked, “I’ll tell you. But it’s kind of a long story. And a weird one, too."

Cas went on to tell her everything. He told her about the moment Dean had strut into the coffee shop for the first time, melting his heart with four simple words. He included the time Dean had allowed him to borrow one of his shirts, the time they shared their first kiss, the time they visited the park and Dean surprised him with a romantic picnic. He mentioned his visit to Dean’s office, even recounting the way he had found himself pressed against the other man’s desk with a set of incredibly soft lips pressed to his skin. Lastly, he told her about their dinner the night before, the one Dean had taken the time to make for him, and the night that had followed. He didn’t necessarily go into detail, but he knew Jo would want to hear the basics, get an idea of what Dean was like in bed. 

The entire time, Jo listened quietly. It was weird considering the kind of person Cas knew her to be. Normally, she’d be interrupting with a clever or dirty response every couple seconds. But instead, she occasionally nodded her head in agreement and her eyes widened when he mentioned the moments they had kissed and the time they had slept together. He liked the change in behavior, but, at the same time, her silence worried him. 

When he finished, he let out a deep sigh, surprised at the amount of weight that seemed to lift off of his shoulders. He hadn’t realized how much he had needed to get this off his chest.

"So," he finished softly, “that’s Dean. My… boyfriend."

He liked that, his boyfriend. It felt good to finally say it out loud, felt real.

At first, Jo didn’t respond. Her eyes slowly skimmed over Castiel, narrowed in suspicion. She shifted in her seat, tucking her feet underneath her and leaning closer.

"Wow," she finally responded in a whisper.

"Yeah, I guess it's a lot to-"

"Wow," she repeated, her voice louder, " _wow_."

"Um-"

"You weren't gonna tell me about all of that until now?" she cried, a hint of anger in her voice, "About your love affair with Mr. Perfect?"

Castiel stared back at her in shock, his mouth gaping and his eyes bugging out of his skull. So she wasn't mad about the fact that he was in a relationship with a guy that was a little older than him, wasn't mad about the fact that he was in a relationship with a  _man_. No, she was only upset that he hadn't told her yet.

"I wasn't sure how you'd take it, for one thing," he insisted, reaching out and grabbing her wrists, "I mean, you know that I've always wondered if I was bisexual, but now I know for a fact that I am. Aren't you a little surprised or pissed that my first relationship is with a guy?"

"Why the hell would I be mad about you dating a dude?" she scoffed, glaring down at Castiel's fingers wrapped securely around her wrists, "You know I'm more open-minded than that!"

Cas swallowed nervously, glancing away from Jo's piercing gaze. The more he thought about it, the more he realized she was right.

"Besides," she continued, "that guy was so fucking hot! Of course I wouldn't be upset. Hell, I might even be jealous, but that's all."

He couldn't help but laugh. This was what he loved the most about Jo. She had the uncanny ability to make him laugh, even when he was so anxious and nervous that all he wanted to do was scream.

"So, you're not actually mad? About... us?" he asked hesitantly, flashing her a hopeful smile.

"Of course not," she chuckled, bringing his hands up to her lips so that she could press a quick kiss to the soft skin there, "I would never be mad at you about something like this."

"That's so gre-"

"But you still should've told me sooner, you little shit," she grumbled, pushing his hands away and turning to face the television, "You should've told me the second that fine piece of ass walked into that stupid coffee shop."

Cas rolled his eyes. He was beginning to wonder why he had ever been reluctant to tell Jo about Dean in the first place. If there was anyone that would accept the news with open arms, it was her.

"I know, I know," he admitted, "I was being stupid, okay? I'm just a little paranoid because I don't want anyone else to hear about it."

"Like the jocks?" she asked gently, glancing over at him out of the corner of her eye.

"Yeah," he sighed, running his fingers through the ruffled strands of his black hair, "like them."

Without warning, Jo threw her arms around Cas, pulling him close, She buried her face in his neck, breathing out a shaky sigh. Cas sat stiff in her embrace, shocked by the sudden gesture of affection.

"Jo..."

"I won't let them hurt you," she growled, tightening her hold, "If they try, they'll have to go through me first."

Cas felt like the biggest idiot in the entire world. This was the person he hadn't wanted to tell about Dean? The only person that would put herself in danger to keep him safe? 

He reached up and rested his hand on the back of her head, burying his fingers in her thick blonde hair. She thankfully wasn't crying, that would be too strange, but the way she was clinging to him was certainly weird enough. He couldn't remember the last time she had hugged him like this. It had been too long.

"Thank you," he whispered soothingly, "let's just hope it doesn't come to that."

 

* * *

 

Dean felt like he had lost a limb, maybe one of his legs or arms. It was an awful feeling, the sensation of being empty, a hollow shell. 

As he stood in front of the door to his house, he realized just how much he missed having Cas by his side. The younger man had somehow managed to become a part of him, a critical component of his entire being.

But he hadn't really noticed it until now. Their night together, it had changed everything. Before, he had felt alone without Castiel's presence, but now, he just felt miserable.  _Incomplete._

Reluctantly, he turned the door knob and slipped inside. He didn't even know where he wanted to go. The only room in the house that seemed to hold any semblance of joy right now was his bedroom, the comforting plush blankets on his bed that still held Cas's scent. 

He slowly began to make his way up the steps, heading straight for his bedroom. He just needed some time to think and sort things out. A lot had happened to him in the past several weeks after all.

He had made it halfway up the staircase when he heard footsteps from below. He froze, glancing over the banister. But he shouldn't have looked, he really shouldn't have fucking looked. 

"Hey," Sam called, leaning against the wall. He was already dressed in one of his navy blue suits, just about to head off to work.

"Hey," Dean responded, smiling weakly, "are you heading into work now?" 

"Yeah, yeah," Sam replied, nodding his head, "I am."

"Good," Dean chuckled, "I'll go grab my-"

"Where were you?" the younger Winchester interrupted, his brow furrowed.

"Oh, I was just, um," Dean stuttered, "going out to grab some breakfast. We were out of milk."

"Bullshit," Sam deadpanned, fixing his brother with an icy glare, "where were you really?"

Okay, this was bad. Sam wasn't supposed to find out about he and Cas for a while, and he definitely wasn't supposed to find out about it like this. The whole situation was fucked up.

"I..." he muttered, licking his lips. He felt like he was getting ready to jump off of a cliff, preparing to fall to his death. Sam watched him as he contemplated how to respond, never moving an inch.

"I was taking Cas home," he answered honestly, throwing up his hands in defeat. What else was he supposed to say? Sam obviously knew something already.

"That's what I thought," Sam sighed, straightening up. He took a few steps closer to the staircase, looking up at Dean with pity in his eyes.

"Dean, we need to talk."


	10. Sam Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Sam finds out ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Sam and Dean curse about as much as Jo
> 
> Yooo let's talk on [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual).
> 
>  
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

"He’s hiding something from me."

Gabe cringed, the rag he had been cleaning with accidentally slipping out of his fingers. He had been waiting for something like this to happen. Honestly, he was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner.

"I’m sure he hides a lot of things from you," Gabe chuckled weakly, glancing up into Sam’s narrowed eyes, "your brother sure as hell isn’t an open book."

"Yeah, you can say that again," Sam muttered, taking another sip from his cappuccino.

Although Gabe liked Cas, when he really thought about it, Sam had a right to be suspicious and upset. For the past several weeks, Dean would make sure that he had left the coffee shop before his younger brother showed up. Of course, Sam knew that Dean and Cas were friends and that they regularly talked, but the little kiss his older brother would place on Castiel’s cheek before leaving would certainly raise some red flags.

"What do you think his deal is?" Gabe asked, leaning against the counter, "you think he’s found a girl or something?"

Sam titled his head to the side, his brow furrowed. He set his cappuccino down and sighed heavily.

"He’s definitely found someone," Sam agreed, "I’m just starting to wonder if it’s a girl, per se."

_Okay, definitely not good._

"Whoa, you think Dean-o’s found himself a guy?" Gabe cried, laughing as if it were the craziest thing he’d ever heard.

"Oh yeah," Sam continued, nodding his head, "I heard him on the phone the other night, and the voice on the other end was definitely too deep to be a woman’s."

Gabe swallowed nervously, picking the rag back up and resuming his cleaning. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. The two lovebirds thought they were so clever, tiptoeing around behind Sam’s back, but the guy wasn’t stupid. He had gone to Stanford for Christ’s sake!  
                                         
“Wow,” Gabe drawled, “I didn’t see that one coming.”  
                                                       
Sam acknowledged him with a slight nod, peering down at the black lid of his coffee cup. A couple minutes of silence passed before he spoke again, his tone sharper than before.

"Actually, I’m not all that surprised," he admitted, aimlessly running his pointer finger around the perimeter of the cup’s lid, avoiding Gabe’s look of confusion.

“What?” Gabe squeaked, his bewilderment quickly changing to horror.  _Please don’t know, please don’t know_ , he silently begged, biting his lip anxiously.

"Gabriel…" he began softly, sending a shiver down the shorter man’s spine at the sound of his full name on Sam's lips, "this is going to sound crazy, I know, but I’m pretty sure I have an idea of who Dean’s been seeing."   

_Not Cas, just don’t fucking say Cas._

"I think… I think he’s dating Cas."

 

* * *

 

Dean couldn’t listen to this anymore. He needed to get away, to go anywhere that Sam wasn’t.

"Dean, please hear me out," Sam called, frantically chasing after Dean as he hurried toward his car.

"Just leave me the fuck alone, Sammy," Dean snapped, throwing open the driver’s side door, "it’s none of your damn business."

"Of course it is!" Sam cried, shoving his body between Dean and the car. He rested his hands on his older brother’s chest, pushing him back, struggling against his surprising strength.

"My love life is  _my_  problem,” Dean growled, “you never see me trying to interfere with your perfect little relationships. Even though most of the chicks you date are uptight-“

"Oh, shut up!" Sam interjected, his scowling face only inches away from Dean’s, "you just never take the time to get to know any of them!"

Dean scoffed, taking a step back. He crossed his arms, leaning all of his weight on his left leg, fixing Sam with an icy glare.

"I remember one that I got to know pretty well," Dean snarled, "except that it was a ‘he’, and I didn’t know you guys were like  _that_  until-“

Sam rushed at him, grabbing the lapels of his suit jacket and slamming him up against the side of his car. Dean was strong, but there was only so much he could do to fight off a 6’4” wall of muscle.

"I told you to never bring that fucking night up again," he hissed, "that was a mistake, and, for all I care, it didn’t happen. Do you understand?"

There weren’t many occasions when Dean found himself afraid of his younger brother. But this definitely qualified as one of those occasions.

"Yeah," he muttered, turning his head away, uncomfortable with the lack of personal space, "I understand."

Sam held him in place for several more seconds before reluctantly loosening his grip. He stepped back, his chest heaving, eyes still wild with fury.

"Good," he mumbled, looking down at the ground, "good."

Silence filled the air, thick with tension. Dean hesitantly moved away from the car, turning as if to climb in, his fingers shaking as he reached into his pocket for his keys.

"Dean…"

He froze, turning back to face Sam. To his relief, some of the anger had seemed to seep out of his younger brother’s face. 

"Yeah?" he asked softly, attempting to hold back all of his frustration from earlier. He hated that Sam was trying to end he and Cas’s relationship, the only romantic relationship that he’d ever really had. And, more importantly, the only relationship that felt meaningful.

"I’m just trying to help you," Sam insisted, "you have to know that."

"Dammit, Sammy-"

"No, just,  _please_ ,” he begged, his voice thick with desperation, “you didn’t let me finish. Can I just say one thing?”

The last thing Dean wanted to do was say “yes”, to give in to his brother and listen to the bullshit kind of advice he wanted to offer him. But he also didn’t want to find himself slammed up against the harsh, cold metal of his BMW again.

"Fine," he snapped, rolling his eyes, "but make it quick."

"Great," Sam replied with a weak smile, "one thing, that’s it."

 _This should be interesting_ , Dean thought with a bitter chuckle. There wasn’t a single thing he could think of that would persuade him to break it off with Cas.

"I’ll just tell you the basic gist of what I’m getting at. So, I’m sure you remember the last time you let yourself get close to someone. It was a while ago, but after everything that happened, I can’t imagine you’d-"

"Get to the fucking point," Dean interrupted, glaring at Sam in hopes of stopping him from saying anything he might later regret.

"Right, right," Sam muttered, nodding his head, "the point. Okay, well, here’s the thing, Dean. I… I don’t want you to get hurt again."

Dean flinched, his eyes widening. Was he talking about…?  _No._

"How could you even compare Cas to…  _him_?” he cried, taking a step forward, “He’s nothing like him!  _Nothing_!”

"I know, I know," Sam soothed, gesturing for his older brother to calm down, "I’m sorry, that’s not what I-"

"You were talking about that son of a bitch when we were inside, too, and that’s exactly the kind of shit I don’t need to think about right now!"

Sam looked as if he had been kicked, his face contorting with pain. He began to slowly back away, his hands raised in surrender, fear in his eyes.

"I didn’t mean that, Dean, I swear-"

"I need to go," Dean whispered, turning back to his car, throwing himself into the driver’s seat, "I-I can’t do this right now."

"Fuck,  _Dean_ -“

"I’ll see you at work," he growled and slammed the door shut. He started the car faster than he ever had before, jamming the keys into the ignition, pressing his foot to the gas pedal as if his life depended on it.

As he drove away, he didn’t dare look back. He knew that Sam would be standing in the driveway, a wounded puppy left to suffer its injuries alone. But there was no possible way he would allow himself to feel sorry for him.

Who the fuck did he think he was? They hadn’t talked about that incident since the day after it had happened. It was completely off limits, the one conversation Dean refused to repeat, the one thing he absolutely had to forget if he wanted to move on with his life.

He couldn’t believe Sam would even compare Cas to that bastard. There wasn’t a single thing that they had in common. They were polar opposites, two different sides of the coin Dean held closest to his heart. He hated the thought of them being similar, the thought of them being joined in any way. But it was true. There was only one other person he had ever let in like he had let in Cas.

And that last thought was what finally pushed him to break down, tears streaming down his face, as he reluctantly drove to meet up with the person he was most afraid of seeing at that moment.

 

* * *

 

Castiel sighed contentedly, leaning against the counter, a warm Americano in his hand. This had quickly become his favorite time of the day. The time right before Dean would stride through the door brandishing his usual smirk and intimidating black suit.

Ever since his talk with Jo, he found that he was much happier. It felt good to know that there was someone else other than Gabe who believed he and Dean would last. Before, he had been constantly worrying that Dean would change his mind one day, see the real Castiel Novak and recoil with disgust.

But, oddly enough, he hadn’t yet. He still seemed to care about Cas, no matter what flaws he had, no matter what weight he probably placed on the other man’s shoulders. As a matter of fact, based on everything Dean had said to him and everything he’d done for him, he was beginning to wonder whether Dean might…  
         
 _No_ , Cas scolded himself, _stop that. Dean cares about you, but you can’t expect that from him_.                            
                                                      
Suddenly, the familiar _ding_ of the bell above the door sounded. Castiel’s head shot up, excitement pumping through his veins as he looked towards the door. But that excitement quickly faded when he saw Dean’s face.   
                                                    
It was nothing like the Dean he had imagined would walk into the shop. No playful grin, no gleaming emerald eyes, no jump in his step. Instead, his cheeks were red and covered with wet streaks, eyes swollen and eyelashes fluttering frantically in an attempt to brush away fresh tears. Cas had never seen him look so upset, so hurt and downtrodden. And he definitely had never seen him cry.

"Dean!" Castiel gasped, coming around the counter, desperately weaving his way through tables to get to the other man. He needed to reach out to him, to embrace him and wipe away his tears, to bring back that trademark mischievous grin he so loved.   
                              
Dean practically threw himself at Cas, wrapping his arms around the other man’s neck, burying his face in his chest. Castiel immediately returned the gesture, crushing Dean’s shaking body against his own, burying his fingers in the short strands of his golden brown hair.

"What’s wrong?" Cas whispered, his throat tightening, struggling to hold back his own sobs.                      

Dean didn’t answer right away, responding instead with a weak whimper. He tightened his arms around Castiel’s neck, burying his nose in the space above the collar of the younger man’s shirt.    

"Don’t leave me," he cried, his voice cracking on the final word.

_What? Where had this come from?_

"I would never leave you," Cas soothed, pressing his lips to Dean’s forehead, whispering against his skin, " _never_."

But Dean continued to plead as if he hadn’t heard him, begging him not to leave.  
                                                  
“ _Please_ , Cas, don’t leave me. Don’t ever leave,” he whined, his body shuddering as he let out a particularly loud sob.

Castiel felt as if his heart was shattering into a thousand jagged pieces. What had happened to make Dean believe he would leave him? There wasn’t a single thing in the entire universe that would make him want to leave the comfort and compassion of Dean’s affection.

"Shhh," he soothed, "it’s okay. I’m right here, I’ll always be right here. I promise. Okay?"   

Dean nodded, another little sob slipping past his lips. He was slowly beginning to calm down, his body only shaking slightly, somewhat better than the awful shuddering from before.                               

"Let’s go get you cleaned up," Cas encouraged, turning so that he could wrap one arm around Dean’s midsection, "before any of the other customers get here."                          
                                                         
Dean nodded his approval once again, unraveling his arms from around Castiel’s neck. He secured one of his arms around the other man’s waist and pulled their bodies closer together.

"Wouldn’t wanna ruin my public image," Dean chuckled weakly, glancing over at Cas with a small smile on his face.

Now that was the Dean that Castiel knew.


	11. Love Isn't Really Kind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is love really patient? Is it really kind? ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: references to **bullying** and **homophobia**
> 
> Let's cry together on [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual).
> 
>  
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

Castiel felt like a broken record at this point, repeating the same reassuring words over and over again. Dean had been crying for a solid fifteen minutes by now, and there didn’t seem to be an end in sight.

The only thing he could do was attempt to soothe him. He had taken him back to the bathroom, the room where, eight weeks ago, they had been half-dressed, swapping clothes after Cas had accidentally spilled coffee on his shirt.

He had wanted to take Dean back to his dorm, but his shift didn’t end for another two hours. Normally, he would’ve just asked Gabe if he could leave early, but, strangely, his boss was nowhere in sight. So, for now, he was stuck here, sitting on the cold bathroom floor, leaning up against the wall with Dean’s head cradled in his lap.

"I-I can’t believe Sam would compare you to him," Dean whimpered, closing his eyes as Cas carded his fingers through the short, golden brown strands of his hair.

"I’m sure he didn’t mean to hurt you," Cas assured him, "Sam doesn’t seem like that type of guy."

"Yeah, I guess," Dean mumbled and let out a shaky sigh. Every time Cas looked down at his red eyes and tear stained cheeks, it was like a punch in the face. 

Silence fell upon the room, an uncomfortable silence filled with unanswered questions and overwhelming curiosity. Dean kept bringing up some guy that Sam had compared Cas to, and the fact that he had no idea who said guy was practically drove him insane. He wanted to ask but knew now probably wasn’t the best time.

"You want to know, don’t you?"

Castiel’s eyes widened, peering down into the other man’s sad gaze in surprise. It was if he had just read his mind.

"Dean, you don’t have to-"

"No, no," he interjected, shaking his head, "you deserve to know."

As excited as Cas was, he remained quiet. He could only imagine how much the other man must trust him to discuss such a touchy subject. Or at least he assumed it was a sensitive area considering the look in Dean’s eyes and the tears he’d shed over it.

"Okay," Dean sighed, "it all happened when I was a senior in high school."

 

* * *

              
             
“You’re one crazy son of a bitch,” Dean chuckled, leaning back on the couch with an amused smirk on his lips.

He was at his friend’s house, his best friend, the person he’d known since he was a tiny first grader staring down the elementary school hallways with pure terror in his eyes. They were the two most popular boys in the entire high school, the head honchos, the stereotypical jocks that every girl wanted. But, to be honest, Dean knew who was really running the school.

Benny Lafitte. The 6-foot quarterback with eyes the color of the sky and the deep, silky voice of an A-list actor. He was a wall of muscles, making sure to work out every single day in order to maintain his status as the guy with the best body. His arms could easily crush you and yet his smile could easily reduce you to a puddle of pathetic, unresolved sexual frustration. Of course, there was always a beautiful cheerleader dangling from his arm, a triumphant grin on her face as Benny paraded through the hallways and dragged her along to his games. He had it all, and although Dean was nearly as well-known and adored, he knew where he stood.

But it wasn’t really that black and white. Dean had learned a long time ago that life loved to throw him curve balls and watch him struggle as he tried to overcome them.

He and Benny knew everything about each other, all of the closely guarded secrets that they didn't dare admit to anyone else. And that was mostly true. Except that there was something Benny didn’t know about Dean and never would.

It started back when he was in middle school while they were over at Benny’s house, almost like they were now. They were sitting around watching television, crammed together on the little couch in Benny’s bedroom, when a sex scene suddenly came on. By this time, they were in 6th grade and had a pretty good idea about the birds and the bees so it shouldn’t have been a big deal. And it wasn’t- at first.

The woman was grinding against the man, her skirt hiking up over her thighs, giggling whenever the man moaned her name. Dean was aroused, as he should be, but it wasn’t until the man’s clothes came off that he really felt something.

Nervous, he glanced over at Benny. The other boy was staring intently at the screen, his eyes eagerly raking over the naked woman. Dean bit his lip, and then made a mistake, a huge fucking mistake. He glanced down at the crotch of Benny’s jeans and noticed the way he was rubbing the bulge in his pants.

He was immediately entranced, watching his friend’s hand with fascination. The image of his own hand doing the same thing flashed before his eyes, sending an excited shiver down his spine. And then it hit him.

He had a crush on his best friend. No, it wasn’t simply because he was fantasizing about getting Benny hard, but because it wasn’t the first time he’d thought of him like that before. If he were honest with himself, he’d dreamt about kissing him, slipping his hands beneath his shirt and pressing their bodies together.

"I need to go to the bathroom," he’d blurted, jumping off of the couch and sprinting into the bathroom. Benny, of course, knew what he was doing but had no idea it was because of him.

From that point forward, many of Dean's wet dreams had included his best friend. He couldn’t stop staring at him, basking in the warmth of his contagious laughter and cocky smirk. It was hell, having to see someone every day and know that you could never have them.                  
                             
But tonight, as they sat together on the couch as they’d done many times before, talking about what life would be like after college, Dean lost it. He and Benny had planned on going to the same school to study to become lawyers. It was all part of a big Master Plan they’d decided on back in 4th grade, and eight years later, they were still sticking to it. But the conversation had randomly taken a turn, and now they were talking about Benny's latest conquest.

"You better fucking believe it," Benny snorted, taking a long swig of his beer before setting the bottle down on the floor, "it’s about time I found two chicks willing to do a threeway."

"Well, you gotta tell me how it is," Dean replied, struggling to keep the jealousy out of his voice, "seems pretty damn awesome."

"Hell yeah!" the other boy cried, shifting on the couch so that his arm rested along the back of the couch behind Dean, "I just hope they’re as freaky as me."

"I’m sure they are," Dean laughed, subtly leaning back so that Benny’s arm brushed against the back of his neck.

Benny nodded his head and picked up his beer. Dean couldn’t help but glance over and watch the other boy as he drank. As his eyes raked over his friend, he realized something earth-shattering.    

"I love you."

 _Thud._  Benny’s bottle hit the floor, the cold, yellow liquid spilling onto the white carpet. Dean was frozen, gaping at his friend as if  _he_  had spoken those awful words instead of him.

" _What_?" Benny cried, turning to look at Dean with a wild look in his eyes. Dean had known him long enough to know that he had just royally fucked up their friendship.  
                                 
“Shit, Benny, I-“  
                                          
“Did you say you fucking love me?” he growled, quickly climbing to his feet, “as in you’re gay for me?”

"I-I…"

"Fuck! How long has this been going on?"

"Benny, I don’t know, grade school maybe," Dean muttered, averting his gaze from the furious boy standing menacingly over him.

"Grade school?" he screamed, "you’ve been a fucking fag since  _grade school_?"

 _Don’t cry, don’t cry_ , Dean silently begged, hesitantly standing. “No, you don’t understand-“

"Oh no, I understand alright," Benny snarled, taking a step back from the other boy. He looked so angry, so disgusted, and Dean could feel the room spinning around him. "Now I get why you've never been with a girl."

"Benny, please," he pleaded, tears beginning to blur his vision, "I never meant to-"

"Get the fuck out of my house!" Benny screamed, pointing towards the door, a tear gliding down his cheek, "and get the  _fuck_  out of my life!"

Dean could feel the ground drop out from beneath him, the world crashing down around him. He choked out a sob, his legs carrying him towards the door against his will.

"No, no, you can’t," he whimpered, " Benny,  _no_!"

"Dean, please," Benny whispered, tears now streaming down his face, "it’d be a lot easier for both of us if you just left."

Dean stood by the door, ready to push it open and do exactly as the other boy said. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it without knowing one thing first.              
                            
“Can you just tell me one thing?” he pleaded, managing to speak through his sobs.

Benny didn’t reply, but he didn’t walk over and shove him out the door either so Dean took it as a “yes”.

"Do you love me? At all?"

The room was painfully quiet, the only sounds to be heard being the soft sounds of the two boys’ heavy breathing.

"No," Benny whispered, his voice so low that Dean nearly missed his response.

That was it. That was the final straw that pushed Dean over the edge, that pushed him to finally leave. If Benny, his lifetime friend, didn’t even love him, no one ever would.

~the next day~

Benny had really hit a new low. As Dean walked into the school the next morning, he wished he had never even climbed out of bed.

Every person he passed growled “fucking fag” right in his face, some purposely running into his shoulder as they shoved past. The people Dean had considered his friends were the ones who seemed to push him the hardest, to snarl their disgust with the most scorn.

Dean began to sprint down the hallway, desperate to get to his first class and find a forgiving Benny sitting patiently in the seat to his left as he always did.  

He frantically threw himself at the door, ignoring the wicked cackles of his classmates when the door didn’t open immediately. Thankfully, it flew open after a couple more shoves, and he found himself standing in the middle of the classroom, frantically scanning the room for Benny’s twinkling blue gaze.

And he found him but not where he had expected. He was clear on the opposite side of the room, as far away from his usual seat that he could possibly be. As Dean met his eyes, he realized just how stupid he’d been in assuming Benny would forgive him.

"Looks like the class cocksucker has finally decided to show his face," Benny jeered, playfully nudging the girl by his side.

It had been a while since Dean had truly had a breakdown, and it was the first time he had one in front of people other than just Benny or Sam. But he couldn’t stop it once the feeling enveloped him, his lip quivering, his legs shaking, tears swimming before his eyes. Why did he have to love the self-centered bastard, the jock with the inflated ego who only cared about himself? Why did he still wish that that same asshole would run across the room and wrap his arms around him in a comforting embrace?

He remembered the innocent days, back when they both were young and naive. He remembered the days they sat out by the river fishing because Dean's father had said it was "the manly thing to do". He remembered the days they'd rode down the street on their bikes, racing each other to Benny's house where the winner received four popsicles instead of just one.

He also remembered the days they spent struggling through high school together. Like a stab in the chest, he remembered the first time a girl had broken up with Benny and he'd come running to Dean, burying his face in his chest as he cried. He remembered the time they'd danced together at a formal, much too drunk to care when Dean grinded just a little too close, jokingly held Benny's waist for a little too long. And he remembered all of the times Benny had made him feel great about himself, putting him up on a pedestal when no one else did, when no one else seemed to actually care about him. 

But it was all a lie. 

"I hate you," he whispered, meeting Benny’s victorious gaze one more time before turning and running back the way he had come. With tears streaming down his face, sobs bursting from his lips, Dean vowed something to himself.

He would never let someone in the way he’d let in Benny. Because no one would ever love him the way he’d loved his best friend.

 

* * *

 

And Castiel couldn't think of anything to say. The only thing he could do was cry.


	12. Desperation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There’s a lot more where that came from." ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chat with me on a little site called [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual).
> 
>  
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

There was no doubt about it- Sam was an idiot. The valedictorian of his graduating class in high school, the man with a law degree from Stanford, the most successful lawyer at the Winchester firm, was incredibly stupid.

Had he really just compared Castiel- sweet, shy Castiel- to Benny? He knew what an awful time that had been for his older brother, and yet he had still brought it up anyway- to protect him.  _Because bringing up something that ruined his fucking life is always a good idea_ , Sam thought bitterly, burying his face in his hands.

Since Dean had driven away, he hadn’t even made a move to go back inside, and he certainly hadn’t tried to go into work. He couldn’t imagine being in the house alone, knowing that Dean was out there somewhere, tears streaming down his face as every horrific memory from of his past that he’d kept buried away now pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. And there was no possible way Sam would be able to confront his coworkers either with that kind of overwhelming guilt bearing down on him.

So he was left here, sitting on the steps outside of he and Dean’s “mansion”, occasionally glancing up into the swaying branches of the weeping willow several feet away. As a child, the tree’s presence had offered him a sense of comfort, had grounded him. And it still did, but nothing seemed to be able to completely calm him down after what he had just done.

Then, out of the blue, he realized that there was someone who might actually be able to make him feel better.

Hesitantly, he pulled his cell phone out of the pocket of his pants and stared down at the lock screen, biting his lip. Should he? Would it be right to just… Before he could change his mind, he quickly typed in his password and searched through his contacts.   
                            
With shaking fingers, he pressed the call button and held the phone up to his ear. The ringing sound on the other end as he waited seemed to mock him, hissing its disappointment, laughing at his optimism. As he sat, listening to the unending and obnoxious ringing, he realized that he hadn’t even considered the possibility that they might not even answer. It’d make sense, really. It was about time that-

"Hello?"

Sam nearly dropped his phone, choking on his response. He had actually answered.  _Chill out, Sam_ , he silently begged.

"Uh, hey," he answered weakly, "how’s it"- he cleared his throat- "going?"

His pathetic greeting was met with silence. For a few seconds, the line remained quiet, leaving Sam to stare down at his feet as his one leg began to shake. Why had he thought calling Gabriel was a good idea?

"Fine, I guess," Gabe sighed, "I was just about to head into work and see what kind of trouble Cassie has gotten himself into."

Sam laughed, shaking his head. He couldn’t imagine Cas doing anything remotely reckless.

"Oh yeah," he snorted, "you might want to go make sure he hasn’t burned the whole place to the ground."

Sam expected Gabe to at least attempt to laugh, but it was as if he hadn’t even heard him. He didn’t reply in any way, which definitely wasn’t a good sign.

"Why are you calling me, Sam?" Gabe eventually responded with another heavy sigh.

 _Oh God_. Sam felt as if he had been punched in the chest, the defeated way Gabe spoke pulling him apart, leaving him exposed and vulnerable. Of course he would have to ask the one question Sam desperately wanted to avoid.

"I… I fucked up with Dean, " he confessed, his voice cracking as he uttered his brother’s name, "and… you were the first person I could think of when I was trying to figure out who I should call to… talk about…  _it_.”

The other man scoffed, catching Sam off guard. It wasn’t really the reaction he’d been expecting.

"What?" he asked, frustration seeping into his tone. After what had just happened with Dean, his patience was practically nonexistent.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. It’s just that I’m not all that surprised."

"You had a feeling this would happen?" Sam cried, his voice coming out much more shrill than he’d anticipated, making Gabe laugh even harder.

"Of course, you stupid jackass. You’ve been worried about his obsession with Cassie so, naturally, you brought up that bastard, Benny, to scare some sense into him," Gabe explained as if it were the most logical thing in the world. 

Okay, he was right. But Sam couldn’t let him know that or he’d never hear the end of it, that’s for sure.

"Whatever," he mumbled, shaking his head, "I’m a pro at bringing up painful shit from Dean’s past. Awesome."

"Oh, c’mon, Sammy, that’s not what I-"

"Can you come over?" Sam blurted, quickly silencing Gabe. His heart pounded in his chest, slamming up against his rib cage with enough force to burst from his chest if it so desired. It wasn’t often that Sam suffered from the same kind of "word vomit" that plagued his older brother, but, as usual, his brain decided that  _now_  would be the best time to say the worst possible thing he could.

"Sam…" Gabe finally rasped, one simple word laced with enough pain to make Sam flinch, feeling the ache as if it were his own.

"It’s alright if you don’t want to. I mean, I completely understand. You’re busy, I’m busy. You have to go into work, I have to go into work. You’re the boss, I’m  _a_  boss-“

"Sure."

Sam gaped, his mouth continuing to move without a single word slipping out. He was sure that he looked like a fish out of water, frantically trying to pull in the oxygen he needed.

"Wha- Really?" he gasped, sitting up a little straighter. 

"Yeah, why not?" Gabe chuckled, "I don’t have to go in with a great guy like Cas at the helm. He can handle the shop on his own, especially on a slow day like this.”

Although he should probably protest, insist that the other man go into work, Sam couldn’t bring himself to do it. The idea of he and Gabe hanging out like they’d done in the past- way too fucking long ago, for that matter- was absolutely intoxicating.

"Wow, okay," he trilled, excitement slowly working its way into his voice, "see you soon, then?"

"Yeah, Sammy," Gabe sighed, "I’ll see you soon."

 

* * *

 

Dean continued to cry for another hour, clinging desperately to Castiel, face buried in the other man’s chest. Of course, Cas didn’t mind, and, with Ash manning the counter, he would be alright to stay with Dean as long as he needed. And, once he’d heard what Dean had been through, he had started to sob anyway. 

There they were, two men sitting together on the cold bathroom floor, cheeks stained with the residual moisture of tears, eyes swollen and red. Cas could only imagine what they looked like to the outside observer, curled up together as they were.

"We should probably get out of here," Cas whispered, pressing his lips softly to the top of Dean’s head, "before someone walks in and wonders what the hell happened. I have no idea what I’d say."

Dean chuckled, lazily trailing shaky fingers down the length of the other man’s leg. Cas shivered and shifted, the thought of standing up and leaving behind the comforting warmth of Dean’s touch holding no appeal whatsoever.

"I think it would’ve been pretty funny to watch you try and explain, but whatever," he laughed weakly, continuing to casually stroke Castiel’s leg. It was awful having to look into his gorgeous emerald irises, marred by the redness creeping its way steadily closer, quickly replacing the usual white that made the green stand out in such a breathtaking way.

"Yeah, yeah, you’re  _so_ funny. But I’m serious, we should go somewhere else.”

"Like where?"

"I don’t know," Castiel sighed, entranced by Dean’s fingers playing with the fabric of his pants, "I guess we could go back to my dorm, but-"

"That’s it!" Dean cried, suddenly sitting up. He hardly looked like the man who’d been crushed against Cas’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably, body shaking with the force of his cries. Every ounce of sadness seemed to have left his eyes, and his classic, mischievous smirk-  _that fucking smirk_ \- was back. 

"What?" Cas asked hesitantly.

"We’ll go back to your dorm! Hang out there tonight!" Dean trilled excitedly, bringing his hands up to cup the younger man’s face, "We could watch a movie! Like… some shitty action movie! You know, with a crappy plot but awesome special effects?"

"Dean…"

"Or maybe an old western!" he interjected, his smirk quickly forming into a wide grin, "Those things are fucking perfect! Especially on a day like today."

"Dean, I-"

Without warning, Dean leaned in and pressed his lips firmly to Castiel’s, swallowing his response. The younger man’s eyes widened, glancing down at Dean’s lips as they hungrily moved against his own. It was clearly a kiss fueled by passion and desperation, a last ditch effort to get his way. The bastard knew Cas too well. 

As much as he wanted to push Dean away and let him know that this whole “using kissing to get what he wants” thing wouldn’t always work, it didn’t take long for him to give in and hesitantly kiss back. The world- as it always seemed to- transformed instantly into a warm blanket, banishing every single one of Castiel’s worries with the incredible healing power of soft flesh against his lips and calloused hands cupping his face. 

Dean crawled into Cas’s lap, eagerly pulling himself closer and wrapping his legs around the other man’s waist. The man who always seemed to exude a ridiculous amount of confidence almost appeared to be… _vulnerable_ , more vulnerable than he ever had been as he strutted into the coffee shop and leaned against the counter with a grin on his face. 

At that moment, Castiel realized something that almost took his breath away.  _This_  was the real Dean Winchester. He wasn’t the cocky, wealthy lawyer that always knew just the right thing to say. He wasn’t the ladies man, happily welcoming a new woman into his bed every night. And he certainly wasn’t the insensitive, vapid jock that Benny must’ve assumed he was back in high school. No, Dean Winchester was the compassionate and understanding older brother, the boss that every employee respected, and the man that deserved every ounce of love Castiel had to give. 

"Dean," Cas managed to mutter as Dean pulled away briefly to draw in a breath.

"Yeah?"

"My dorm, remember?" 

Immediately, as if someone had shocked him, Dean leaned back With a wildly excited glint in his eyes, he reached down and grabbed Cas’s hand, pulling him to his feet. 

"Of fucking course I remember!" he snorted, dragging him towards the door, "It’s not like I forget about that when you did that damn thing with your tongue, not at all."

Castiel laughed and shook his head, but he didn’t pull his hand away, allowing himself to be whisked away from the bathroom. He felt like he might vomit, overwhelmed by the pure joy flooding his body.

"There’s more where that came from," he chuckled as Dean shoved open the front door to the shop, and the cool chill of autumn assaulted their senses.

 

* * *

 

Gabe couldn’t believe it. He had made a promise to himself, and yet here he was, already going back on it.

Ever since Sam had left him on that awful night three years ago, he’d decided that he would never allow him back into his life the way he had before. There was no way he could possibly handle that kind of suffering again- it would kill him.

But no, he was in his fucking car on the way to the Winchester Mansion. The place where Sam, the only man- and person, for that matter- to ever pull the one-night stand act on him, waited eagerly. Worse yet, the way Sam had sounded on the phone led Gabe to believe that his phone call was purely an act of desperation. The son of a bitch didn’t know who to call so, of course, he just  _had_  to call him. 

 _You know that you still want him_ , his mind insisted sadly, speaking the cold, hard truth he had been denying from the moment he had seen the tall, cheerful man set foot in his coffee shop once again.

He had missed the warmth Sam seemed to give off, the feeling that everything was alright in the world. And who wouldn’t? Anyone would miss that kind of sensation if, suddenly, it were no longer a part of their lives. 

It was the only justification he could think of, and it was the only thing that would keep him sane if he wished to get through the rest of the day with Sam Winchester by his side. 


	13. Awkward Car Rides and Star Wars Marathons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the one with an awkward car trip and a Star Wars marathon ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, let me just say that I'm SO sorry it has taken me this long to update this! I've been really busy! I hope that you all don't hate me, and I hope that you enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Talk to me on [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual) whenever you'd like!
> 
>  
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

The ride back to Gabe’s apartment was easily the most awkward ten minutes of his life.

Neither he nor Sam said a single word the entire time. And, to make matters worse, no one even considered turning on the radio to get rid of the foreboding silence that had fallen over the cramped interior of Gabe’s sedan. The shorter man had to fight to keep his focus on the road, refusing to spare a glance at the ray of sunshine in the passenger seat. He looked just as uncomfortable as Gabe felt, which, he had to admit, was a relief.

 _You can get through this_ , Gabe tried to convince himself, _you’ve been through much worse._

He wasn’t really sure how silence had seemed like the right solution, but it had ended up working in its own strange way. They didn’t have to worry about any sensitive subjects coming up in conversation, and they certainly didn’t have to confront the elephant in the room. Gabe knew that the last thing he needed to do was bring up the moment the man he loved had torn him down and left him to wonder what he had done wrong, to wonder who would ever be with him…

 _Stop that_ , Gabe reprimanded himself quickly. He couldn’t keep focusing on that moment- it would likely drive him insane by the end of the night.

When his apartment finally came into view, Gabe let out a much-needed sigh of relief. He had never been happier to see his dingy excuse for a home in his entire life. It would be simple. All he had to do was get Sam upstairs, lead him to his living room (or his bedroom, whichever the other man preferred), and let him sleep there for the night. Piece of cake. 

He pulled along the sidewalk as he always did and hurriedly parked the car, eager to escape its confining walls before Sam could speak and ruin the illusion of tranquility he’d managed to create on the way over. Although Sam was known for his exuberant and compassionate personality, the guy still fucked up just like every other human being. And saying the wrong thing at this particular moment would completely redefine the phrase, “fucking up”.

Gabe was out of the car in seconds, unceremoniously slamming the car door shut behind him. He didn’t even turn to look at Sam. Confidently, he strode toward the front door, attempting to pour every single ounce of determination he had left into his gait. Sam couldn’t know how truly frazzled and pathetically frightened he was about the situation at hand. If he seemed vulnerable, the son of a bitch would take advantage of him again.

“Hurry up, Sammy!” Gabe called out, turning his head slightly to glance back at Sam’s stumbling, gangly form as he climbed out of the tiny sedan.  If he hadn’t felt like he might vomit at any moment, he probably would’ve laughed at the sight of such a large man struggling to get out of such a small car.

“Yeah, yeah, hold your damn horses!” Sam cried, shaking his head and laughing good-naturedly. He quickly tried to catch up to the sprinting shorter man, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste.

But Gabe was surprisingly fast and the nervous energy fueling the adrenaline pumping through his veins was only making him faster. He couldn’t stop laughing, Sam’s exuberance and contagious laughter assaulting his senses, filling him, pushing every negative thought from his head.

He reached the steps and was about to quickly ascend them, perpetuating the pleasant feeling spreading through his body, but instead, he froze. The memory of Sam running up these same stairs, his hand wrapped securely around Gabe’s wrist, dragging him along behind him- _no_ , it was all too much.

“Gabe, for the love of-“

Sam nearly ran into Gabe as he quickly came to a halt by his side. He hesitantly glanced down at his heavily breathing companion, his gaze filled with pity and confusion. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asked softly, resting his hand reassuringly on Gabe’s shoulder.

“I… I’m sorry. I just…” Gabe trailed off, tilting his head back to look up into Sam’s concerned hazel eyes. The taller man looked genuinely worried. He couldn’t do that- he _shouldn’t_ do that. “It’s fine. I just got a little… lightheaded because I guess I-I was running too fast or something.” _Smooth._

 “Okay,” Sam drawled, obviously not convinced, “let’s take our time then. It’s no rush, right?”

“Sure, sure,” Gabe muttered. He flashed Sam a weak smile and then gasped. Here he was again, being led up the steps by the taller man’s secure grip on his wrist, surprisingly still able to lift his legs and carry himself up the flight of stairs that separated he and Sam from his apartment.

How the hell was he ever going to make it through the rest of the night?

 

* * *

 

Castiel couldn’t believe it. Somehow, he was lucky enough to have found someone with the same passion for the Star Wars saga that he possessed, someone that didn’t mind spending the afternoon curled up on Cas’s bed watching every single movie- in order, of course- until Dean drifted off to sleep.

However, unlike Castiel, who liked to argue about certain aspects of the movie and didn’t mind interrupting by whispering comments every now and again, Dean remained silent the entire time. He stared intently at the television screen throughout, acknowledging Cas’s comments with one or two words before turning all of his attention back to the movie. It was like he had never seen them before, which Castiel knew he most certainly had.

“I always liked Han’s character,” Cas mumbled at one point, trailing his fingers lazily up and down the length of Dean’s forearm. They were nestled together on the bed, both stretched out, with Cas’s head resting comfortably on Dean’s chest. It was an awkward angle for the other man, but he was willing to make sacrifices when it came to Dean.

“Mhm,” Dean muttered distractedly. He glanced quickly down at Cas’s wandering fingers, smiled softly, and turned back to the television.

Normally, Castiel would’ve made a snarky comment about how Dean seemed to care more about the movie than his own boyfriend, but he decided now might not be the time. The guy had had a pretty shitty day, what with recalling the most painful moment in his life and all. It only made sense to let it go for now- he’d settle for pouting.

When Dean did finally drift off to sleep, Cas couldn’t help but be somewhat relieved. At first, he had considered doing something _else_ to pass the time. But he didn’t believe that sleeping with Dean at a time like this was the best idea. He had stopped crying, but Castiel could still see the pain in his eyes, carefully hidden behind a calm and collected façade. Asleep, he looked far more peaceful and true to himself. Just… _Dean_.

Careful as to not accidentally wake the sleeping man, Cas made sure that he leaned back slowly. He cautiously reached in the small bedside table, thankful that it was on the same side of the mattress as he was, and pulled out a plush, white blanket. It was Castiel’s personal favorite, and the idea of the two of them sharing it for the night seemed surreal, as if it belonged in one of his crazy fantasies as opposed to the shockingly cruel reality he had become accustomed to.

Cas gently laid the white blanket over Dean’s body, causing the other man to flinch, twist his fingers in the soft fabric, and turn so that he could nuzzle his head into his pillow. Dean let out a heavy sigh and drew his legs up closer to his chest. Castiel watched each shift with a childishly excited grin on his lips, thrilled by the way the other man appeared to immediately take a liking to the blanket.  _Your favorite one, too,_ his mind quickly reminded him like the little shit that it was.

Although he had only ever shared a bed with Dean once, Castiel knew that he was secretly a little spoon. It had happened naturally the last time they’d slept together. In the middle of the night, Cas had found the other man’s back pressed up against his chest. The development had positively thrilled him, and he had eagerly wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, pulling him in even closer.

Castiel lifted the blanket slightly and crawled underneath, curling his body around Dean’s as he had done the other night. He buried his nose in the tiny, golden brown hairs at the base of Dean’s neck and inhaled deeply, breathing in the delicious scent of clean cotton, peppermint, and leather. Castiel loved the way Dean smelled, especially the heavenly scents that lingered after he took a shower. He hadn’t quite worked up the courage to climb into the shower with him yet but he had been there when Dean had climbed out of the shower- that was close enough, right?

 _You better stop thinking about Dean in the shower_ , Cas’s mind chastised him, _or you’ll lay here fantasizing about him instead of actually sleeping. You can’t even do anything with the poor guy right now because he’s trying to_ sleep _. Something_ you _should be doing right now._

God, Castiel’s conscious could be a real killjoy sometimes. He sighed heavily and slipped his fingers beneath the thin fabric of Dean’s shirt, gliding the pad of his thumb across the slight jut of his hipbone. His eyes slowly fluttered shut, and he was left to dream of mischievous smiles, freckles, and pliant lips.

 

 


	14. Fix You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tears come streaming down your face, when you lose something you can’t replace, when you love someone, but it goes to waste, could it be worse?" -Coldplay “Fix You” ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, this one is quite long and will hurt. At least there's some deancas in the beginning, though... right?
> 
> Head over to [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual) if you want...
> 
>  
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

“No way.”

Cas looked skeptically down at the plate Dean had set down in front of him, eying the stack of waffles as if he were afraid some strange insect or creature might suddenly crawl out from underneath them. They looked normal enough, but the whole situation was still so surreal that Cas struggled to believe it was truly happening. 

“What?” Dean scoffed, strutting back over to Cas’s kitchen counter- or lack thereof- with his usual swagger, a slight sway in his hips. He had somehow managed to find the only apron the younger man owned, a somewhat ratty-looking one that actually belonged to Castiel’s mother and had been stowed away in his closet since the last time she’d come over to visit. On anyone else, it would have looked completely ridiculous. But, when coupled with the Dean’s cocky exterior, it seemed almost cute.

“You made waffles? Really?” Cas teased, unable to tear his gaze away from Dean’s waist and the curve of his spine, features emphasized by the tightness of the apron. It was quite distracting.

“Of fucking course I made waffles,” Dean cried, casting a smirk over his shoulder as he loaded his plate with a healthy stack of the delicious breakfast food, “you should know by now that I’m quite the chef. I’m better in bed than in the kitchen but…”

Cas flushed and immediately averted his gaze, staring down at the waffles with beet red cheeks. Dean had a point; he could certainly whip up a delicious plate of spaghetti and meatballs, but the food paled in comparison to the way he knew how to make Castiel come undone in the bedroom. They had only slept together twice- technically, only once if you counted the second time as a heavy make out session followed by a blowjob courteous of the great Dean Winchester- and yet Dean seemed to know just the right places to touch and kiss the younger man, applying the perfect amount of pressure, purring in contentment when Cas’s toes curled in response to his wandering fingers and lips.

“Oh, shut up,” Castiel retorted weakly. Dean chuckled softly and joined the younger man at the small kitchen table, glancing around at the room’s white linoleum floors, sky blue walls, and chestnut cabinets filled with borrowed silverware and dishes from his mother. When it came to Cas’s parents, his mother was a far more compassionate and selfless individual than his father, who had become a religious fanatic with an ego the size of a national celebrity’s.

“Aw, you love me,” Dean purred, reaching over to run his hand down the younger man’s thigh. Cas’s fork clattered to the floor, slipping out of his suddenly shaky fingers. He always seemed to lose the ability to control his movements when Dean was involved. A stream of loud, genuine chuckles filled the tiny kitchen, echoing off the walls, filling Castiel’s head with the rich sound.

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” Cas mumbled, bending over to retrieve his now dirty utensil. He shot a glare at his smug breakfast companion and rolled his eyes. Dean reached over and quickly snatched the fork from Cas’s fingers, holding it up to the light. He pretended to thoroughly inspect it, his lower lip jutting out in that way that made the younger man’s limbs morph into pathetic, useless noodles.

“Hm, looks like I may need to exchange this utensil for a cleaner one, sir,” he growled, attempting to mimic… well, Cas had no fucking clue who Dean was trying to imitate, to be perfectly honest. He could be such a goof ball sometimes; it seemed to be a defensive mechanism for him, a way to avoid exhibiting the emotional turmoil poisoning his mind. So of course, when he made jokes Castiel didn’t quite understand, especially after recounting his first and only experience with heartbreak, the Cas gladly played along.

Dean glanced out of the corner of his eye to see if Cas was enjoying his little show. He appeared to be satisfied by the little chuckle that slipped from the younger man’s smiling lips, rising from his chair with the contaminated fork in hand.  Castiel couldn’t help but stare, still entranced by the way the other man looked in the godforsaken apron he would have to thank his mom for forgetting.

Suddenly, an obnoxious buzzing sound dragged Cas back to reality. Who the hell could possibly be calling him? Jo was probably out with Charlie, getting into trouble as usual. His family members would never waste their precious time calling him this early. The only other person he could think of was Gabe, which didn’t make any sense either.

“Who the hell is that?” Dean wondered, a hint of concern in his tone. Castiel shrugged and pulled the phone closer, curiously peering down at it. _Fuck._

He swiped his thumb across the screen and lifted the phone to his ear. “Um,” he began hesitantly, “Gabe?”

“I… I think I fucked up.”

 

* * *

 

Sam threw himself down on Gabe’s couch as if it were his own, settling into the plush piece of furniture with a satisfied sigh. He glanced up at the couch’s true owner and grinned. “Are you gonna join me? Or am I just going to sit here and watch some shitty television alone?”

Gabe rolled his eyes. He still felt as if he might vomit at any moment, his hands shaking as he nervously tucked them against his side and made his way over to join the other man. It was wrong, all so wrong. Sam should not be here again. Gabe remembered all too well what had happened the last time the younger Winchester brother had set foot in his apartment.

And yet he didn’t tell the son of a bitch to leave. He didn’t walk back through the door and out into the night. He didn’t pick up his phone and call Dean, begging him to come drag his younger brother’s sorry ass home. No, instead, he continued to approach the couch and sank into the comfort of its black leather fabric. At this distance, the heat and joy emanating from Sam was nearly overwhelming.

 _Stand up_ , his mind urged him. But he completely ignored his logical subconscious, choosing to put a few extra inches between himself and his lanky, muscular companion instead. It was the quickest compromise he was able to make between the warring sections of his brain.

“Alright,” Sam trilled, leaning forward to grab the remote, “let’s see what’s on. Any preferences?” He turned, flashing Gabe another one of his dazzling and disarming smiles. He swallowed nervously and chuckled.

“Not that I can think of,” he admitted, “just pick whatever tickles your fancy.” Sam seemed satisfied by Gabe’s response, hazel eyes flitting down to the other man’s lips and back up to his eyes again in a motion so fast that Gabe nearly missed it. _He’s looking at you like you’re a goddamn steak he can’t wait to sink his teeth into_ , his mind angrily supplied.

“Sounds good to me,” Sam chuckled and switched on the television set. He flipped through several stations, passing over all of the sports and news channels as Gabe figured he would, and finally stopped on a movie that looked oddly familiar.

“Is this…?”

“’French Kiss’, yep,” Sam sighed, glancing over at Gabe’s dumbstruck expression with pride. The movie had always been one of Gabe’s favorite romantic comedies- something that Sam just so happened to know. Even better, it was the scene when Meg Ryan’s character accidentally kissed Kevin Kline’s character.

“I… this fucking movie,” Gabe squeaked, his concerns from early slowly fading away. Had Sam checked to see what movies would be playing in advance? Or was it just some lucky coincidence? The former made Gabe’s mouth suddenly very _very_ dry.

“Yeah, ‘this fucking movie’,” Sam repeated fondly, “your favorite, right? Because of Luc’s adorable humor and Kate’s sassy attitude?” Gabe wanted to reply, to at least say _something_ , but he couldn’t seem to remember how to speak. “Oh, and how could I forget- the kiss at the end.”

The dizzy and anxious sensation from earlier had returned once again, hitting Gabe like a train barreling down its tracks at full speed. He couldn’t turn away from the screen and meet Sam’s pleading stare. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as the taller man turned to face him.

“The way he lifts her and spins her around,” Sam purred, leaning closer, “the way he kisses her desperately because he’s so fucking thrilled to have her…” Before Gabe could push him away, something he likely wouldn’t have done anyway, Sam was pressing his lips softly to his neck, the touch surprisingly gentle in comparison to the last kiss Gabe had shared with him.

“And the way he smiles against her lips,” he mumbled against Gabe’s skin, “the way he can’t seem to stop himself from kissing her over and over again.” Gabe gasped, caught off guard by the shaky exhale that ghosted across the tender skin behind his ear. “The way he fucking _worships_ her…”

“Sam,” Gabe finally managed to whimper, instinctively tilting his head back to offer the other man more space for his wandering lips and, now, fingertips, “stop…”

“He never knew how much he needed her in his life,” Sam continued, carefully smoothing the pad of his thumb over Gabe’s jawline, “and he never knew how perfectly she would fit into the life he had already planned out for himself.”

This _had_ to stop. Gabe couldn’t possibly go through what he’d previously gone through that terrible night three years ago. Never again would he allow someone to make him feel treasured, only to leave him the next morning with no intention of ever coming back, a broken shell left hollow and numb.

“I said… stop!” Gabe cried, summoning every ounce of strength in his small frame to shove Sam away. He didn’t mean to be rough but the bastard had him pinned against the cushions, using his chest and shoulders to corner him and hold him in place.

Sam went flying backwards, almost falling onto the floor. He lay sprawled out on the opposite side of the couch, disheveled hair splayed across the cushion, and stared back at Gabe with the pained expression of a kicked puppy. He had never seen Sam look so completely devastated.

“Gabe…”

“No! _Please_ … go lie down in the other room or something,” Gabe moaned, “I can’t do this.” He quickly stood, moving away from Sam’s extended arm, and refused to turn and meet the other man’s gaze. Without even looking, he knew that Sam was sitting up now, swollen lips slightly parted, pupils dilated and lust-blown.

“I’m just trying to fix this,” Sam pleaded, the distinct sound of leather squeaking as he got to his feet, and Gabe took a few steps farther away from the couch.

“Leave!” Gabe croaked, “go the fuck to sleep before I have to leave!”

An eerie silence filled the little room, charged with the tension of three years of heartache and misunderstanding. Gabe wanted nothing more than to turn and apologize, to run into the comfort of Sam’s strong embrace. But that would never happen- it could _never_ happen.

After several seconds of being caught in an uncomfortable and miserable standoff, the soft sound of Sam’s footsteps broke the silence. Gabe listened closely as he walked away, noticing that he took his sweet time, some kind of weak attempt to change the other man’s mind.

 _So this is the way it has to be_ , Gabe speculated sadly, crawling back into the comforting warmth of the black leather sofa. He drew his knees up to his chest, burying his face against the plush cushion tucked neatly into the corner of the L-shaped couch. What the hell was he going to do now? Sam slept soundly- he assumed- in the other room, out of sight, but he would have to face him the next morning.

Gabe let out one more shaky exhale before shutting his eyes, vowing to call Cas the moment he woke up the next day. He was the only person left he could turn to. 


	15. Trouble in Paradise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where trouble somehow manages to find Dean once again ♥

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like talking to people so yeah do the [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual) thing.
> 
>  
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

Nothing about Dean’s reaction to Gabe’s confession surprised Castiel. He hadn’t been expecting him to stand up for his brother, but he still was shocked by the flash of anger in his emerald green eyes when he heard the news.

"Stupid son of a bitch," Dean growled, quickly standing and shoving in his chair, "he just doesn’t know when to give up." He reached back to untie his apron and carelessly tossed it down into the seat he’d been sitting in. Castiel wasn’t used to seeing the other man so angry, veins slightly protruding on his strong arms, jaw clenched in frustration, fury evident in his eyes. The change unsettled him to a certain degree. This was not the Dean he’d- no, he couldn’t possibly think that. Not now; it wasn’t the right time.

“Where are you going?” Castiel called out as Dean stormed over to his bed. He already knew the answer, but he needed to be sure. Hell, he needed to know in case the other man decided to strangle his brother to death, effectively landing his ass in jail. Cas knew that Dean loved his brother more than anything in this world. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t find a way to teach him a lesson when he acted like a prick.

Quite honestly, Sam had made a huge mistake. Castiel wasn’t one to make judgments, but a one night stand with a man as fragile as Gabe was incredibly cruel. The poor guy could fall apart at any moment, and he certainly didn’t need the added stress of revisiting his past nightmares.

“Where do you think?” Dean grunted. He had hurriedly strode across Cas’s dorm- something that didn’t take long considering the size of the place- to the younger boy’s bed, snatching up his jacket from the floor. Castiel loved that fucking jacket. It had come to symbolize the real Dean Winchester as opposed to the act he put on for others while dressed in one of his neat perfectly-pressed suits.

“What are you even going to say to him?” Cas wondered, standing up and moving closer to the door, “That he needs to give up? Because I might not know Sam as well as you, but he sure as hell doesn’t seem like the type to just back down.”

Dean sighed heavily. He turned from the doorway and stepped closer to Castiel, resting his hands gently on his hips, and pulled him so that their bodies were flush. Cas could feel his cheeks redden, feel every hair stand on end as the other man slipped one of his hands beneath the thin shirt he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to change out of yet. Dean leaned closer, brushing his lips briefly along Castiel’s jawline, savoring in the little gasp that slipped past the other man’s lips at the contact, and leaned back slightly.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” he soothed, trailing his fingers slowly up and down Cas’s spine as he spoke, “I know what to say to him. I mean, I know you’re pissed because Gabe is your friend. But I really don’t want our first fight to be over something ridiculous like this.”

Castiel nodded his head in agreement and glanced down at his bare feet in an attempt to avoid the intense stare Dean was directing his way.  _You hate conflict_ , his mind softly reminded him,  _let him do what he feels is right_.

“Fine,” he sighed, hesitantly lifting his gaze to meet Dean’s. As he had expected, the other man’s emerald green eyes were watching him intently, flickering down to his lips.

Before Dean could turn and walk out the door, Castiel grabbed him by the collar and dragged him into a heated kiss. The need had been so sudden and all-consuming, washing over him like the powerful swell of a wave as it crashed into the shore. The urge to act on such a poweful compulsion simply couldn't be stopped. He felt himself being roughly pulled into Dean’s inescapable orbit, a sensation that came over him every time they ended up like this, with their lips slotted together perfectly and their bodies pressed together in a way that didn’t even seem physically possible.

Unable to control himself any longer, Dean moaned, the deep timbre of the sound sending vibrations through Castiel’s already quivering figure. The hand that hadn’t been under the other man’s shirt earlier slipped down to the front of his boxers, teasing with the waistband. The son of a bitch knew that Cas would beg to be touched if he kept brushing his fingers so dangerously close to his embarrassingly hard morning wood.

“Dean,” Cas mumbled against the persistent man’s lips, “you still need to go help Gabe.” He hated himself for saying it but knew immediately that it was what needed to be said. Castiel had never been a selfish person and couldn’t bear the thought of his boss sitting home alone in misery.

“Just a quickie,” he whined, toying with the hem of Cas’s night shirt, “you know that it won’t take me that long to get you off.” Castiel blushed, surprised by the lewdness of Dean’s comment. He only ever made such inappropriate and blunt declarations if he were afraid.

Castiel reluctantly took a step back, missing the comforting heat of Dean’s body the minute they separated. “Please, Dean,” he begged, trying to fix his now rumpled shirt, “you need to go help him. I know you’re afraid-“

“Cas, c’mon, I-“

“No, don’t even try to deny it,” Castiel interjected, ignoring the sharp pain that shot through his chest due to the aching in Dean’s eyes, “I know you. You forget that we’ve been together for almost three months now. If I couldn’t recognize when you’re freaking out on the inside, what kind of boyfriend would I be?”

Dean’s expression softened, the fear seeming to melt away right before Cas’s eyes. He reached out and grabbed the younger man’s hand, a gesture that never failed to send a shiver down Castiel’s spine. Even after they’d crossed the final physical intimacy barrier, Dean still chose to express his love through a gesture far less intense and yet infinitely more meaningful. It took Cas back to the moment they’d shared their first kiss, the moment they’d gone out on their first date, the moment they’d first slept together. Somewhere along the line, hand holding had come to represent all of he and Dean’s firsts as a couple.

Castiel squeezed his hand. “If anyone can patch up what’s going on between those two dumbasses, it’s you.”

Dean beamed, reminding Cas of a child who’d just been told by one of his teachers that he’d managed to receive the highest grade on a test. He looked so fucking  _proud_  of himself. And Castiel, who rarely saw the confident side of Dean, wanted to memorize the ecstatic expression before the other man went back to being his self-deprecating self once again.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean chuckled softly and gave Cas’s hand a quick reassuring squeeze before pulling back his arm, “the jack of all trades comes to the rescue once again.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and shoved Dean playfully. “You’re such an asshole.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

Gabe refused to look at him. No matter how many times Sam sighed heavily and turned his wide, pitiful eyes toward him, Gabe would not give into the pressure and acknowledge his presence. The son of a bitch didn't deserve his attention.

"You're really just going to ignore me?" Sam whispered, pain evident in his scratchy voice. From the dark circles under his eyes and the greasy state of his hair, Gabe assumed that his guest hadn't slept well. _Serves him right_ , he thought with a snort, rolling his eyes. He didn't reply to Sam's question and simply continued to stare at the television screen as if something were actually playing on it for him to watch.

"This is fucking ridiculous," Sam scoffed, shaking his head, "you're acting like a goddamn brat." Gabe could tell that he was trying to get a rise out of him. It made him nauseous, thinking that the other man knew him well enough to poke and prod him in just the right places until he burst into a million jagged pieces, like a ticking bomb.

"Brilliant," the taller man growled, standing up, "just  _brilliant_." He then began to pace the room, accomplishing the task in only three strides considering the astounding length of his legs. If it had been any other time, Gabe probably would've been amused by how funny the tall, somewhat lanky man looked as he crossed the room, turned on his heels, and strode in the opposite direction before turning and starting over once again.

"You know," he continued, staring down at the ground, observing the path that would soon be etched into Gabe's hardwood floors if he persisted, "I came over here because I thought you'd be understanding. I thought, 'He's a mature guy. If I use logical arguments, he'll get it'." At this point, Sam stopped briefly and glanced over at Gabe. Immediately, the other man averted his gaze down to his shaky hands clasped tightly in his lap.

Sam made a small frustrated sound and went back to pacing and rambling. "But then, when I actually go through with my stupid fucking plan, you won't even listen to what I have to say before you shove me away. Like a piece of  _garbage_."

The dizzy sensation was nearly overwhelming at this point, turning Gabe's stomach in a horribly uncomfortable way that made him want to do nothing more than lean forward and retch all over the floor. Why? What was the point of all of this? The urge to speak up and tell Sam what he really thought of his careless actions nearly three years ago was nearly killing him.

Gabe shifted in his seat but didn't say a word. Sam caught the gesture out of the side of his eye as he continued to pace and chuckled bitterly. "That's what I am to you," he hissed, "after what I did, I'm nothing more than a-"

"Shut the fuck up," Gabe growled, unable to remain silent any longer, "don't you  _dare_  bring that up. Because there's no way you're going to make me feel bad for the way  _you_  screwed up."

That seemed to hit a nerve. Sam froze, eyes wide like a deer in the headlights. Gabe had never seen him look so terrified before, as if he'd gotten away with murder and was finally being called out on the horrendous act. He had to admit that the reaction satisfied him. After all of the heart-wrenching pain he'd had to experience as the victim, Sam deserved to feel at least some- if not more- suffering.

He opened his mouth to speak but then stopped. Without another word, he turned and strode in the direction of Gabe's bedroom. He slammed the door shut behind him, causing the shorter man to jump slightly at the sudden sound. Silence filled the room, leaving Gabe to do the last thing he wanted to do: think.

The act of thinking always seemed to get Gabe into trouble. He'd come up with the worst case scenarios or would be caught up on the negative things that had recently happened to him, avoiding any sense of optimism whatsoever. He breathed in slowly and exhaled, closing his eyes in a desperate attempt to calm himself down. God, he hated conflicts. Playful flirtatious banter with Sam was something he was used to, but fighting... that was a different story.

The only thing he could do was hope that Dean didn't take his sweet time in showing up to rescue him from whatever kind of hell he'd somehow managed to slip into.

 

 

 

* * *

 

"Yo, catch!" Jo called across the room, tossing a bottle of Bud Light in the direction of the redhead lounging casually on her couch. With ease, the woman in question reached up and caught the bottle as if she'd done it many times before.

"Next time, we're going over to your dorm to mooch off of  _your_  alcohol, Charlie," Jo teased, moving away from the refrigerator as she spoke, and settled on the other side of the couch beside her guest. The blonde kicked her feet up so that they laid across her friend's lap, resting them on the opposite arm rest.

Jo didn't usually like it when people intruded on her personal space. But Charlie was a completely different story. Besides Castiel, the brainy redhead was the only other person Jo referred to as her "friend". They shared a love of Taco Bell, books, and science fiction, and that's all that mattered. What more could you ask for?

"Whatever," Charlie chuckled, twisting the cap off of her bottle with the sharp twist of her wrist, "I think we should make Cas's sorry ass buy the next 12-pack for us."

Jo rolled her eyes. "As if," she scoffed, "the lucky son of a bitch is too busy with that fine piece of ass he managed to snag to go out and pick up some beer."

Charlie turned away from the television, momentarily taking a break from  _Aliens_. And anyone who knew the redhead well knew that she rarely allowed anything to interfere with her foray into the wonderful world of science fiction. "Cas has a boyfriend?"

"Sure does," Jo sighed, taking a sip from her own bottle, "and the guy's perfect so"- she shrugged- "more power to him."

Charlie nodded, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of her lips. "No fair," she whined, slouching even further into her little corner of the couch, "even if dudes aren't my ideal choice, I gotta admit, I'm a little jealous."

"Yeah, same here," Jo agreed, "leave it to Cas to find perfection in human form." Charlie laughed and shoved the blonde playfully.

"Bastard," she gasped mockingly. Jo laughed even harder and shoved Charlie back. Normally, it'd be Castiel that they would be shoving, pushing, and prodding. He was the human punching bag- in the nicest way possible, of course. "We only do it because we love you," Charlie would always coo, snaking her arm casually around Cas's thin waist.

"Oh wait," Charlie suddenly trilled, turning to face Jo with a wide grin on her face, "guess what I heard!"

"What?" the blonde chuckled, rolling her eyes. She wasn't as crazy about the local gossip as Charlie was, actively avoiding any situation that might include her in a new school-wide rumor. The only reason she listened to any of the information Charlie spouted was because of the energetic and dramatic way she managed to relay each scandalous story, making things a little more interesting and extravagant than they really are.   

"Gordon's brother is in town. And apparently he's a huge douche bag," Charlie snorted, wrinkling her nose in disgust.

"Awesome," Jo sighed, taking a quick swig of her beer, "what's his name?"

"I think it's... uh... oh! I remember now! His name's Benny."


	16. Discussions, Drinking, & Dancing- Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Dean is a fantastic older brother, Charlie might just be a negative influence, and Castiel is most certainly a light weight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so, I'm _so_ sorry that this has taken me this long! I've been extremely busy with the last semester of my senior year along with making big college decisions. That being said, I definitely want to continue and finish this story. Enjoy this chapter!
> 
> Oh, and come join me on [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com) if you'd like!
> 
>  
> 
> _This chapter has been edited_

Uncomfortable didn't even  _begin_  to describe Sam's ride back home.

He turned to watch as Dean drove, facing forward with his jaw clenched. The moment he had seen Sam, sitting on the floor with his back up against Gabe's bedroom door, his expression had turned absolutely murderous. Without a single word, he'd reached down and dragged his younger brother to his feet, ignoring every pathetic protest as he pulled him along.

He hauled Sam down the steps and out of the apartment building, nearly throwing him into his car. Even as the passenger side door slammed shut, trapping Sam for what he knew would be a solid fifteen minutes of hell, his grimacing brother refused to acknowledge him in any way, shape, or form. Dean had perfected the cold shoulder by now, and, to make matters worse, he knew full well that he had mastered the technique. This wasn't the first time he'd gotten royally pissed off about something his occasionally idiotic younger sibling had done. It didn't happen as often as it had when they were younger, but they lived in the same house after all.

The first few minutes had predictably passed in complete silence. As they drove along, Sam peered out the window and watched the signs and billboards pass as if they were the most interesting things in the world, while Dean stared down the road with enough intensity to melt it purely using his swelling rage. Sam anxiously waited for the moment that the little red laser beams would stream from the other man's eyes and burn holes into the pavement.

Unsure of what to do with his hands, Sam reached out to turn the music dial. Oh, glorious satellite radio, with its promises of loud pop music and crude rap to drown out all of his thoughts. Sam wasn't a big fan of confronting his feelings- much like his older brother. Blocking out the entire world around him with blaring music usually seemed to keep the troubling emotions and thoughts at bay. He twisted the small dial carefully. He knew Dean preferred the channels that played acoustic music and the few that played decent rock and alternative. No one knew- except for maybe Cas- how much of a closet softee the other man was.

As expected, Dean allowed him to aimlessly tinker with the radio as he pleased. Even when Sam chose a station blasting "Turn Down For What?," his older brother simply grimaced harder and gripped the steering wheel tighter. It made sense. Contrary to popular belief, Dean hated confrontation. If he could avoid an issue for a couple weeks, he'd just go right ahead and ignore it for months instead. It explained the somewhat constipated expression on Dean's face when confronted with anything even remotely emotional. The guy couldn't even sit through a sad movie without leaving the room at a particularly moving scene, making some pathetic excuse, like a mumbled "bathroom", before scurrying away. Sam never brought the issue up, though. He had a pretty good feeling it all came back to Benny, and the last thing he needed to do was bring  _that_  up again.

Each time, he'd ignore it, and pretend like nothing had happened. But not this time.

It was simple: Sam had fucked up. Big time. As in, the he-needed-to-have-his-ass-kicked-for-the-rest-of-his-life kind of big time. Hell, he couldn't even remember the last time he'd screwed himself over like this. Or screwed someone else over, for that matter. Well… there was another case, but it basically tied in with this one so he decided to count the whole thing as one massive fuck up and leave it at that.

He needed to talk about it. He needed to get the whole damn thing off of his chest before he exploded. Dean wouldn't want to spend the rest of the year cleaning Sam's splattered remains off of the interior of his car, would he?  _At least we're not in the Impala_ , Sam thought with a little snort. If he blew up while cruising along in that thing, Dean would probably hang him from the weeping willow in the front yard.

Fuck, he was doing it again! How did this always happen? He constantly let his mind wander, focusing on other completely random things, when he wanted to escape what was really important. He would think about or do just about anything if he thought it would distract him.  _Focus_ , he quietly berated himself.

Hesitantly, and with more caution than he'd ever used around Dean, Sam spoke. "So…"

Dean didn't reply. He didn't even flinch, flat-out refusing to acknowledge Sam's brief comment. The bastard didn't even blink. He kept his eyes fixed on the road instead, watching the black pavement and yellow lines pass beneath the car as he drove. If Sam didn't know any better, he'd wonder if his brother had fallen victim to road hypnosis. But, no,  _fuck_  road hypnosis. He had heard Sam; he was just deciding to be a major dick about the situation.

"You don't have anything you want to say to me? Nothing?" Sam wondered incredulously. He turned, watching for any kind of reaction. Dean eyes appeared to narrow, but his mouth remained stuck in a hideous scowl. He adjusted his hands slightly on the wheel and sighed loudly. He didn't seem to be in the mood for something as polite as responding.

"See, I thought I was the childish one in this situation. I run to Gabriel, desperate to fix things, and, well, that just screams stupid. Usually, in this kind of situation, I'd assume that I was the one at fault. But-" Sam reached out and turned the volume down a little, fingers aching to toy with or hold something. "You're starting to make me reconsider. If anyone's being a tool, it's you. 'Oh, I'm Dean, and I have a perfect life and a hot boyfriend and-'"

"Really?" Sam jumped, surprised by the outburst. He subconsciously shied away from his furious brother, leaning towards the window in hopes of putting more space between them. Dean looked like he would give anything to pull over and beat the living shit out of him.

"Yes, really! Maybe if you knew what I was going through, you'd understand. And maybe you could even help, strange as that sounds."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Sam," Dean growled, sparing a quick glance in the persistent man's direction. Venom filled every word, pain underlying each syllable. "I don't know if you realize it, but you just stole a point from one of my arguments."

Sam blinked. He glanced down at his jeans, suddenly fascinated by the way the light glistened off of the zipper. His shaky fingers brushed over the cool metal, still at a loss for something to do. He blinked again. "I..."

"Yeah, Sam, brilliant work. I'm so impressed. And, wow, I feel  _so_  fucking sorry for you. Thing is? It seems like you completely forgot about our little conversation a couple weeks ago. The one about my relationship with Cas? I said that you should keep your damn mouth shut because you've always seemed to attract flawless women."

Fuck.

"Ring any bells?" Dean turned, caught Sam's gaze, and went back to watching the road, rolling his eyes. Sam could only stare, momentarily losing the ability to form words.

"That's what I thought. You tried to keep me away from Cas because you thought I would end up getting hurt again. And now, you use my own argument against me, while I sit here and try to talk some sense into your thick goddamn skull." Dean shook his head, the disgruntled frown on his lips slowly morphing into a disgusted scowl. The music blared in the background, shaking the car's frame as the beat pounded through the speakers. Sam didn't even have the sense to make a joke about Lil' Jon's talent. No, he couldn't even remember which way was up, let alone what some rapper sounded like.

"You and I both know you're just going to hurt Gabe again." Sam opened his mouth to protest, but Dean quickly cut him off. "And don't you dare say that you won't. The guy has been in love with you for  _years_  now, and you've been in a relationship with two girls already since that night. Sure as hell seems like you managed to move on."

This time, Sam didn't even try to deny Dean's accusations. Every word, sadly, was the truth.

"I know that you think you love him, but, just because someone loves you, doesn't mean that you can force yourself to love them back. No offense, Sammy, but I think Gabe deserves a stable relationship. Not some... fling that could end at any moment. He needs commitment." Dean stopped, mulling over the rest of his advice before finishing, speaking in a gentler tone than before. "And, I hate to break it to you, but you haven't quite figured out what commitment is yet."

Sam watched as the buildings flew by, recognizing a few. He let Dean's words sink in, struggling to convince himself that he was unfazed by the ache in his chest that insisted,  _He's right_. He leaned in closer to the window, narrowing his eyes. Yeah, this definitely seemed familiar- they were getting closer to home. How nice. Once they got there, he knew the first place he was heading. The liquor cabinet had his name all fucking over it.

"You need to grow up a little bit before going after a guy like Gabe, Sammy. He deserves the real thing." Dean's face had softened considerably, emerald green eyes regarding him with... shit, that had to be pity. He pitied Sam, the man who couldn't maintain a lasting relationship to save his life.

"Give him some space, you know? I mean, technically, you have. I'd definitely say three years could be considered sufficient 'space'," Dean chuckled weakly. He flashed Sam another pitying glance and hopeful smile. Dean's ability to change his entire demeanor never ceased to amaze Sam. One second, he was furious, and the next, he was pulling you in against his side, insisting that there will always be hope. He was strangely optimistic for a man haunted by childhood rejection and insecurity.

"I'm terrible at this kind of thing... I honestly wish I knew what to tell you. Just... think about it, okay? Sort out all of your emotions first. If you really love him, try again. And I'll support you if that's the way you feel, I promise. I'm not doing a damn thing, though, if you don't actually care about him like that." Dean didn't laugh this time. "Clear?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, "Crystal."

* * *

Castiel didn't even acknowledge Charlie's comment. The redhead had been waving her arms around, screaming like an idiot, for the past five minutes. Solid effort on her part, but it still wasn't enough. Instead, he reached down and turned up the volume on his phone, blocking out her insistent ramblings with Gabrielle Aplin's beautiful crooning.

Of course, Charlie never went down without a fight. One moment, Castiel was humming along to "Salvation" and, the next, his earphones were being tugged out with enough force to nearly send him toppling off the couch.

"Hey!" he cried, blindly reaching out for the cord. He missed by only a few inches, brushing the smooth surface with his fingertips before Charlie tossed the offending object across the room. "You can't just cut off Gabrielle like that!"

Charlie rolled her eyes and plopped down beside him, kicking her legs up to rest on Castiel's lap. She sighed loudly.  _Oh God_. This wasn't good. That kind of sigh could only mean one of two things: either Charlie had bad news for him, or she was about to try to talk him into something she knew he'd never agree to. Knowing his luck, it would be the latter.

"Sap," she scoffed, gesturing at his phone, "your music is enough to make an angsty teenage girl weep." Castiel narrowed his eyes and shoved her playfully, his cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He liked music with meaningful lyrics- sue him.

"Whatever. That's not why you're over here- I can tell." He wrapped his hand around one of her ankles and squeezed lightly. The hand resting on his thigh shook, lavender nails tapping wildly. She always fidgeted like this when she knew she would be shot down. Well, it looked like he was right about her trying to talk him into something.

"Yeah, um, about that," she drawled. Her eyes widened and turned toward the television, the thick swell of her bottom lip trapped beneath her teeth as she mercilessly bit down and chewed on it. Great. Another nervous gesture. What the hell was she hiding?

Castiel regarded her hesitantly, afraid she may scamper away like a frightened wild animal if he said or did the wrong thing. These situations never seemed to go in his favor. He usually ended up upsetting the redhead because he was an "antisocial prick" or a "pussy". Or, if she were especially angry, he was simply a "top-notch douche nozzle." That nickname only slipped out when Charlie had too much to drink or had a rough day, though. The other two were a little more common.

"Okay…" Cas prompted slowly, watching her warily out of the corner of his eye. Again, he didn't want to spook her. "What's up?"

"There's a…" She began chewing on her bottom lip again, digging her fingernails into the thick fabric of Castiel's jeans. "Well, there's a party tonight. And I thought that maybe… you'd like to go?"

He couldn't have possibly heard that right. Party? As in the kind where people get shit-faced drunk, dance, and have sex with whomever they can find, passing out in random places, whether it be the front lawn or the roof?

"What?" he chuckled nervously, releasing the redhead's ankle. He twisted his torso to face her more fully and attempted to put on his best "you're my friend so I love it when you make funny jokes like that" grin. But there was only so much bullshitting he could do.

"Okay, hold on. Just hear me out!" She reluctantly pulled her legs out of Castiel's lap, shifting, and tucked them beneath her seated figure. Glistening blue eyes stared back at him, darting quickly between the frown on his lips to the furrow of his brow and back down to his uncomfortable grimace once again. Sensing his anxiety, she reached out and grasped his hands, holding them tightly between her smaller palms.

"I know you don't like parties. Fuck, I know you  _hate_  the stupid things. But, here's the thing. Ever since you and Dean started dating, you've been more outgoing. You actually talk to people without staring down at your hands like the other person might bite your damn head off at any second."

Castiel scoffed. Alright, fine. So he had never been a big fan of socializing? That didn't mean he didn't know how to do it. His parents had raised him to be a gentleman. He simply chose not to deal with people because he hated having to worry about the judgments they may pass based on every single word that slipped past his lips.

"It'll be fun! You can get smashed and drunk dial that sexy thang you call a boyfriend." Charlie squeezed Castiel's clasped hands and pulled away. She then had the nerve to wink at him. Talk about negative influences.

"You know that I don't-"

"Yeah, yeah, hush. We're going for at least an hour. If you're still having a terrible time and the booze isn't making you feel any better, you can leave. Then, and only then, can you even think of waltzing out of there. Got it?"

Castiel didn't really care for ultimatums, especially ones like this. Every time he made some kind of deal with someone like this, he always ended up getting the short end of the stick. Except for the coffee shop, that is. Charlie was partly responsible for his decision to work there, and that had certainly turned out in his favor. Well, at least at this point, it appeared that way.

"Fine," he eventually conceded, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. "I get to pick out what I wear, though."

Charlie scowled but shot him a quick, little nod. With practiced ease, she lifted herself off of the couch and moved to stand in front of Castiel. "I'm sure you'll regret that. But… eh, to each his own."

She turned on her heel and strut across the room, slipping her feet into the magenta Toms sitting at the end of Castiel's bed. Charlie made choosing clothes look effortless. He, on the other hand, wasn't graced with the same knack for putting together decent outfits. His wardrobe consisted of a few button-down shirts for work, a jacket, a couple pairs of jeans, several ratty and faded t-shirts from high school, and a pair of embarrassingly old pajamas, frayed at the hems and covered in tiny coffee stains. At least, those were his "go-to's".

Once Charlie turned her back on him, he sighed. She immediately swiveled back around, cocking her head to the side. "Something wrong?" she wondered, adopting her best sickly sweet and condescending tone.

"Nah," Castiel insisted, cautiously glancing up into the redhead's curious gaze. "I just don't know what they hell I'm going to wear."

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. "I figured as much," she mumbled and scampered over to Castiel's closet. With far more enthusiasm than was necessary, she threw open the closet door and began tossing clothes onto Castiel's bed.

Yeah, this would be a  _blast_.

* * *

What bottle was this? Three? Four? Fuck, for some reason, the number seven kept popping into his head. But that couldn't be right. There was no way he'd drank that many beers in such a short period of time. That is, until the room began to spin around him. Six was beginning to look pretty reasonable.

"Cas?" A feminine voice slurred from beside him. He turned to see who had spoken but ended up falling against the person's side, surprised to watch the room turn around him as he moved.

"That's the name," he mumbled back, grinning in the random girl's direction. Her red hair and ocean blue eyes seemed somewhat familiar, but the name escaped him. They were friends, though, that much he remembered. Eh, he would have to refer to her as Friend for now until the name came back.

Oh wait! Now he remembered. Charlie, the girl's name was Charlie.

"You're such a ligh' weight," she scoffed, shaking her head, strands of scarlet hair flying everywhere. He laughed, entranced by the way the fluorescent light glinted off the swinging flyaways. There was something very pretty about it. But not like Castiel's boyfriend. Those gorgeous green eyes and that strong jawline and smatter of freckles on those flushed cheeks- yeah, he wasn't even pretty. The guy practically qualified as a GQ model.

"Where's Dean?" Castiel wondered, scanning the room for any sign of the man's leather jacket and broad shoulders. Had he come with them? Cas couldn't remember that detail either, but there hadn't been any kissing or touching on the way over so that probably meant Dean hadn't tagged along this time. The thought made him surprisingly sad.

"He's with his dick brother," Charlie explained, maneuvering Castiel's swaying figure so that he no longer weighed her down. He staggered for a few seconds but managed to steady himself. He had never drunk this much before. The party had been a bad idea after all.

"Maybe I shou' go dance." Without sparing another glance at the redhead, he belched and wobbled his way into the small crowd of writhing bodies gyrating in the middle of the room.

The music, pulsating, sank into his bones and seemed to shake the entire room with its beat and intensity . Castiel ignored the nagging pain in the back of his skull and unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach and began to sway. Dancing had never really been something he enjoyed. But, the alcohol and adrenaline coursing through his veins made him think differently. It was actually kind of fun when you let yourself give into the rhythm.

A few seconds of solitary swaying passed before someone slid in behind him, pressing against his back, and trailed their fingers down his sides. The contact didn't bother him at first, but the unfamiliar press of soft breasts against his back made him flinch and turn, gaping at the beautiful brunette woman who had just been grinding lazily against him.

Instead of apologizing or attempting to explain herself, she simply winked and took a few steps closer. She had beautiful eyes, that much was true. The glint in her mischievous emerald green stare reminded him of… Dean! Yes, the one who was off consoling a wildly confused and somewhat douchey younger brother instead of partying with him. Now that he'd come to terms with the fact his boyfriend- he smiled as the word popped into his head- hadn't come along, he ached for his touch more than he had before the Dean's absence had truly set in. He would know how to make this party fun.

The girl now had her entire body pressed up against Castiel, nuzzling against his collarbone. He shuddered at the contact, wondering what Dean would have done in a similar situation. Would he have pressed his lips to Cas's skin like the girl currently was? Would he have snaked his hands under Cas's shirt, dug his fingers into the soft sides of his belly, and tugged him closer? Would they have rutted against each other in the middle of the dance floor, right in front of everyone?

Somehow, Cas didn't think Dean would go for such intimacy in front of a crowd of strangers. He never hesitated to intertwine their fingers or press a chaste kiss to Castiel's lips in public, but dry humping… well, that would likely be out of the question.

The eager brunette currently rubbing up against him, making pathetic little mewls of pleasure into his ear with each thrust, didn't seem to be concerned about what people thought of her forwardness. Even when Castiel simply let her move without making any kind of reciprocal gesture, she kept going. He had to admit, her persistence was impressive. The poor girl apparently hadn't heard about he and Dean.

He froze, watching in horror as the room careened around him. He should've slowed instead of immediately ceasing his dancing. He wasn't even sure if you could refer to what he'd been doing as "dancing." Swaying and waving his hands around didn't really qualify as such.

But that wasn't what was important at that moment. Only Castiel's two closest friends, his boss, and his boyfriend's younger brother knew about he and Dean's relationship. Well, random passersby that happened to be around while they were out on a date certainly took notice. But his classmates, his family- they had no idea. The two had been together for a few months now. Shouldn't he be able to let everyone know how lucky he was? How proud he was of the man that, for some strange reason, appeared to care about him?

The answer seemed pretty obvious: yes. By this point, his relationship should be public. In most cases, couples let people know of their feelings a few days after they'd first hooked up or gone on a date. He had never heard of any couples that waited  _months_  to announce their relationship.

He suddenly felt far sicker than he'd been a few minutes earlier and that was saying a lot. Reluctantly, he took a few steps back from the gyrating, wide-eyed brunette. She watched the movement, lips twisting into a frown. Her head titled to the side, a silent  _you don't want this?_  expression on her face. Any other time, he would've continued to dance with her to avoid any conflicts, but he had something more important to take care of at the moment.

 _He loved Dean_. More than anything in this goddamn world, he loved that adorable, selfless bastard. And yet no one else knew about it. How? How could something so all-encompassing and intimate be kept hidden? Dean had become a part of him, like an additional limb, but not a single person had any clue that such a change had taken place. They still saw him as the quiet, fairly down-to-earth computer engineer who spent most of his time brewing delicious coffee.

 _I can't be here_ , he thought frantically. He had to leave now, before he made any-

"Oh."

A tall, broad-shouldered man stared down at Castiel, brilliant blue eyes regarding him with surprise and possibly… amusement?

"I- fuck, I'm so sorry," Castiel quickly apologized, struggling to straighten back up again and continue towards the door. The man shook his head and reached out, wrapping his hands around Cas's biceps. The strong grip helped to steady Castiel, allowing him to balance and get a decent look at the person who had managed to stop him from face planting into the carpet.

"You're good, buddy," the man insisted. A shudder ran down Castiel's spine. The only person he knew that could speak with that much intensity was Dean. Each syllable rolled easily off of the man's tongue, as if every word had been specifically designed for his lips.

"Well, you're not good," he chuckled, looking Cas up and down in one quick gesture, "but you're not lying in a pool of your own vomit yet. So I'd say that's something." He grinned, clearly hoping to get a laugh out Castiel. He chuckled softly and smiled but didn't want to reply for fear of drowning out that rich and powerful voice.

"Yeah," Cas slurred, noticing the way the walls seemed to be moving once again. The man tightened his grip and shook his head, laughing lightly at his new friend's drunken state.

"Listen, I'll take you home. You look like you're about to pass out at any second so it's probably a good thing you get somewhere safe before the vomiting begins. Okay?"

Castiel nodded but, in all honesty, wasn't completely paying attention. The unpleasant feeling in his stomach continued to intensify and the deep timbre of the other man's speech left him feeling a little weak in the knees. He was way too fucking drunk for this. Thinking about the sexiness of someone's voice, someone other than Dean, was out of the question.

"Alright, let's go." He slid his right hand down Castiel's arm and easily slid his fingers around the other man's wrist. He carefully lifted Cas's left arm and rested it on the back of his shoulders, making his way through the crowd with ease, even with the additional weight.

"You're Castiel, right?" he asked as they walked. He glanced down at Cas and back up again when the other man simply responded with a tiny nod. "That's what I thought."

"Wha' about you?" Cas wondered, tilting his head back as much as he could without turning the world upside down once again. As he spoke, the man pushed open the front door and pulled Castiel along behind him.

"Me?" He chuckled and gestured towards a black Range Rover parked in the driveway. He carefully maneuvered Castiel so that he rested against the side of the SUV and reached into his jacket pocket. Cas watched the light from a nearby streetlight reflect off of the keys' metallic surfaces. Everything looked blurry, as if he were peering through a dirty magnifying glass. Way too fucking drunk.

"Yeah, you," Cas repeated weakly, watching the man tug open the passenger side door. "You know me. Bu' I don' know you. So?"

The man rolled his eyes and chuckled. "Fine, fine. Damn." He gripped Castiel's biceps again and slowly helped him lower himself into the comforting leather seat. Cas winced as a burst of pain erupted inside of his skull, making the world around him grow fuzzier and fuzzier by the second. He was going to pass out any second.

Before he shut the door, the man grinned down at him and conceded, "Ben. Most people just call me Ben."

Ben… why did that name sound so familiar?


	17. Falling Apart; Coming Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I guess the whole world is made up of things coming together and things falling apart…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, I have good news! or, for you amazing readers, I certainly hope you'll think this is good news. instead of dividing my time between my 3 multichap fics, I'm going to finish the _rest_ of this fic up before I work on the others. plus, with senior year almost over, I'll have more time to write in the weeks to come- or at least I'm pretty sure I will. with that being said, you can expect updates more often. oh, and I think I should probably put a warning out there for this chapter: **dubious consent but not rape**
> 
> enjoy, and, as always, you can always come party with me on [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com/tagged/the-usual)!

Standing outside, enduring the cool chill of an early November morning, Dean Winchester realized that it had been a while since he’d been so afraid. He rarely feared for his own well-being. He cared a lot more about the well-being of others, especially his sometimes addlepated younger brother. But the person he feared for at this point in time was likely the person he worried about the most.

“What? How the fuck did you _lose_ him?” Dean snarled into the phone pressed against his ear, squeezing the offending object hard enough to shatter it if he so wished. “He’s pretty hard to miss. Especially since he probably never even walked out onto the damn dance floor.”

Silence. That wasn’t supposed to be the response Charlie gave him. She should’ve assured him that it was all just a tasteless joke, that Castiel actually spent the past several hours curled up on her couch, drooling on the cushions like he always did when he slept. But no. Nothing. Not a single word.

“Did he… was he dancing last night?” Dean scoffed, shaking his head. The thought alone made him snicker. Castiel- _dancing_? The sight would surely be something to behold. Cas didn’t really understand the concept of rhythm- although he tried- and he looked like the type that would spend most of his time tripping over his own feet instead of actually dancing like a normal human being.

“Um… what would you say if I, uh, told you that he actually… did dance?” Charlie practically squeaked the last few words, clearly terrified of how Dean would react to the news.

And Dean couldn’t _possibly_ disappoint, now, could he?

“Don’t fucking lie to me, Charlie. Now is _not_ the time for jokes. Do you hear me laughing?”

“No,” she sighed, “but I’m not kidding- I swear! One second, he was there, swaying like an idiot, and the next… he was just, er… gone.” Again, she spoke as if she could read Dean’s mind and knew the harsh response before it even slipped past his lips.

“That’s crazy. Cas doesn’t dance. I don’t think the poor guy knows how.” Dean chuckled weakly in hopes of alleviating some of the tension. He had a bad habit of taking his anger out on people who had nothing to do with what was bothering him. Charlie didn’t deserve that from him, especially since she had known Castiel longer than him and was probably just as worried about his whereabouts- if not more- as Dean was. Hell, he could only imagine how Jo had reacted. A police squadron was probably out patrolling the streets already.

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t, but he tries. Or at least he did last night.” Dean could practically hear the shrug in Charlie’s voice as she spoke. “He blended right in with the crowd, though. No one really knows how to dance, and, at parties like that, they’re all shit-faced drunk so they don’t care what they look like anyway.”

Dean clenched the phone tighter, coming dangerously close to throwing it down onto the pavement. He couldn’t believe it. Cas had told him on multiple occasions that he loathed parties. He had always said that he hated the crowded atmosphere, the oppressive heat of so many bodies crammed into such a small space, and that he couldn’t handle the belligerent behavior of the many stumbling drunks as they slid down the staircase or stumbled to the bathroom. As a matter of fact, whenever Castiel spoke of the local parties, he never had _anything_ good to say about them. So why the fuck would he go to one?

“I don’t get it,” Dean growled, “it doesn’t make any sense! It’s so unlike him! I… shit, Charlie. You need… you have to tell me everything. If some prick decided to take advantage of him, I swear to God…”

“Hey, hey, calm down. I’m just as worried about him as you are. The best thing to do at this point is be smart and try to piece everything together. We’ll find him faster that way.” She hesitated, letting out a shaky sigh, before continuing. “So, yeah, you’re right. I’ll tell you what I remember. I was just as drunk as Cas, I think, but I might be able to remember enough.”

Dean didn’t comment, didn’t refute or reprimand her. He simply stayed quiet and waited for her to elaborate. He had always found that silence calmed him down and kept him from saying things he may regret later. The technique definitely came in handy with Sam as a sibling.

“Alright. Now, let me think… I’m pretty sure I noticed a guy watching him out on the dance floor. I had thought it was creepy but now… yeah, I’m a fucking idiot, shut up.”

 

* * *

 

Castiel woke with a start to the scent of sweat and the faint odor of clean cotton. Normally, the odor wouldn’t have bothered him, but it didn’t smell anything like the Sun & Sand candle he kept in his own room. That couldn’t possibly be good.

Slowly, he cracked open his eyes, regretting the decision almost immediately as light from the nearest window shined directly into his groggy face. He groaned, closed his eyes, and rolled over onto his other side. A sickening ache spread through his skull the moment he shifted, the uncomfortable sensation of nausea following quickly in its wake as the shot of pain subsided. He buried his face in what felt like a pillow, breathing in the lingering smell of fresh linen that he’d inhaled a few seconds earlier. Comforted by the pleasantness of the odor and in too much pain to actually sit up, he nuzzled into the soft fabric and sighed contentedly.

“Looks like someone’s finally awake,” a deep voice suddenly chuckled. The speaker seemed to be somewhere behind him, laughing in a rumbling way that reminded Castiel of Dean. He imagined it would feel like the comforting hand of a protective lover if it had any way of physically touching him, a soothing brush of fingers or reassuring squeeze.

However, although it resembled the deep timbre of Dean’s voice, it didn’t elicit any other sort of memory or image in Castiel’s head. And, well, that was a sobering thought. Never before, not in his entire godforsaken life, had he ended up in the bed of a complete stranger.

Then, the previous night gradually wormed its way back into his conscious, easing its way in at an agonizingly slow pace. The copious amounts of alcohol he’d indulged in at the party would explain the sluggish pace of his brain and the uncomfortable ache in his skull and pit of his stomach. Had he thrown up yet? Was it all over this poor stranger’s floor? Or had it been in his car the night before? His mouth didn’t taste like vomit, though. Of course, if he really had gone the entire night without retching, it was a fucking miracle.

“It’s probably a good thing you passed out the second I got you back here last night,” the stranger rambled on, carrying on as if Cas had already sat up and engaged him in conversation. “You would’ve done a number on my toilet otherewise- I’m sure of it.”

Again, he chuckled, filling the room with the easy and surprisingly comforting sound of casual laughter. Whoever he was, he seemed… nice. Yes, it was just a logical presumption based on the two sentences the guy had spoken. But Castiel was fully clothed and hadn’t been killed in the middle of the night so that had to mean something. Right?

Summoning what little strength and willpower he had left, Castiel carefully rolled over to face his savior. The movement still left him feeling lightheaded, but, as his eyes fluttered open, the light didn’t seem quite as unbearable as it had before. The sunshine coming through the window fell solely on the space occupied by the bed, shrouding the stranger in almost complete darkness. Half of his square face was visible thanks to the tiny lamp propped on the desk he sat at, exposing short, gelled blond hair and piercing blue eyes, framed by ridiculously long lashes. His full lips and tanned skin completed the whole “attractive jock” image he appeared to be going for, the extent of his good looks doing nothing for the morning wood Cas always sported when he first woke up.

“There he is!” The stranger trilled, beaming at Cas. He rose from his chair, doing so with the swiftness and practiced ease of an athlete, and strut over to where Castiel lay. He could only watch in rapt fascination as the man sat on the mattress, and eased his way on top of the covers, stretching out his legs. The entire time, he smiled down at Cas, confidently meeting his gaze. After several tiny adjustments, he stilled, settling on a position with slightly bent legs, and lowered his head onto the cushion of his crossed, muscular arms.

“For a guy that packed away almost half a case of beer, you sure seemed to sleep well,” the stranger teased with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Hell, I only had a couple, and I tossed and turned for most of the goddamn night. What’s your secret?”

Castiel peered up at him, blinking rapidly, and attempted to make heads and tails of what the man was getting at. He couldn’t seem to keep up with the conversation, still plagued by the delightful side effects of alcohol. It didn’t help that the guy looked like he’d walked straight out of a sports ad for Nike or something. 

“Wait… sorry, but, who… who are you, again?” Castiel managed to croak, clearing his throat after the word “again” clawed its way painfully from his throat. The pungent odor of beer continued to filter through his nose, and its powerful taste seemed to be plastered to the roof of his mouth, straining his senses every time he swallowed.

The stranger’s brow furrowed and his lips pursed. He regarded Cas as if he couldn’t quite figure him out. Castiel, of course, would be the first one to tell him that he wasn’t the first person to be completely baffled by his quirkiness.

“I thought I introduced myself last night, but yeah, I guess you wouldn’t remember that. Especially since you passed out almost right after I told you.”

As he spoke, Castiel couldn’t help but notice that the space between them appeared like it had lessened. Sometime during their little, stilted attempt at a conversation, the stranger had scooted a few inches closer, pressing their sides together through the covers. He wanted to bring it up- _personal space, buddy_ , Dean would say- but didn’t quite know how to phrase the request. Plus, he wasn’t even close to being as self-confident and frank as Dean usually was.

“The name’s Ben.” The stranger- Ben- finally conceded, flashing Castiel a practiced, flirty smirk. The moment he identified the expression as flirtatious, he began to take notice of every place their bodies touched. The warm and seemingly harmless demeanor no longer held the same implication as it had before. Something about the expression on Ben’s face, his upturned lips and piercing gaze, made Castiel want to shrink away and get the hell out of the room, back into Dean’s reassuring embrace.

“Ben… that sounds familiar.” Castiel admitted, consciously avoiding the man’s penetrating gaze. Now that he had acknowledged the uneasy feeling in his chest at the mere mention of the name, Cas felt more hesitant to share any information. God, where had he heard that name before?

“Probably because I saved your ass from endless humiliation and a nice sleep in a puddle of vomit,” Ben jeered, nudging Castiel affectionately with his elbow. It, too, felt forced. Every gesture held only a modicum of legitimacy, as if he were only _pretending_ to give a damn about the ridiculous sophomore he’d picked up at last night’s party. Wait… the party… Cas might have been extremely hungover and only partly awake, but certain details from the night before were slowly coming back to him. If he remembered correctly- and he was almost positive that he was- Ben had insisted that he drive Castiel back to his dorm. Not _his_ dorm.

“Why are we… in your dorm?”

Ben grinned, and rolled his eyes, regarding the very question as nothing more than a joke. He didn’t seem like he took Castiel seriously. He had no idea that Cas was studying to be a computer engineer and definitely had the mental capacity to comprehend the situation at hand. And the wrongness of it all.

“Apparently you left your key in some girl named Charlie’s car. I tried diggin’ around in your pockets, and, when I couldn’t find anything, you told me. Well, you mumbled, ‘lef’ ‘em at Charlie’s.’ I figured you meant your key. So… here we are.” His smile widened. Sometime during his explanation, he had bridged the gap Castiel had attempted to put between them. He now loomed over Cas, his broad shoulders blocking out the light from the window, and submerged the entire half of the room in almost complete darkness. Castiel instinctively swallowed, watching in horror as Ben inched closer and closer. Piercing blue eyes scanned his face, awaiting some kind of resistance.

Unfortunately, Castiel’s brain still hadn’t completely repaired itself. Everything around him continued to move in slow motion, and the edges of his vision blurred, blotting out the rest of the room behind Ben’s intimidating figure. He parted his lips, ready to ask the man to lean back and get the _hell_ out of his personal space, but Ben interpreted it as an invitation instead of restraint. The mischievous glint that had lit his round eyes earlier returned, and he licked his lips, staring intently at Castiel’s lips the entire time.

Before Castiel could even try to shove Ben away, the light touch of soft, pliant skin brushed against his lips, lingering for several charged seconds, before vanishing. The kiss- if it could even be called that- had ended just as quickly as it had begun, as fleeting as the brush of fingertips across Castiel’s jaw, hesitant and far more careful than he would’ve expected from Ben. Unlike the numerous times he and Dean had kissed, Cas felt nothing. There were no “fireworks”, no building heat beneath his skin, no impulse to grab and pull and _take_. He hadn’t wanted to continue the kiss. Ben’s decision to only press their lips together for a few brief moments was certainly wise, considering the urge to gag that had overcome Castiel right before the man had pulled away.

Surprisingly, though, Ben didn’t lean back in to steal another kiss. He simply returned to his original position and sighed, putting every ounce of frustration into the miserable sound. For someone who had just kissed a complete stranger without his consent, Ben seemed fairly comfortable, unaffected by the guilt that usually bothered someone in his same position. Castiel, on the other hand, wondered if he might have to make a visit to the toilet after all.

The room stayed quiet for a minute or two. Castiel didn’t want to open his mouth, voice his discomfort, and end up with his head bashed in, tossed in the back of a truck on the way to the nearest river. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. Ben bared no resemblance to a serial killer other than his uncanny ability to charm his way out of any punishment. Most murderers possessed the same charismatic personality and ability to deceive. However, it still didn’t mean that Ben was a homicidal maniac bent on raping and killing him the first opportunity he got. No, he seemed like the kind of college guy that needed a good lay and suspected a drunk underclassman would give him what he wanted. He wasn’t stupid enough to try and rape Castiel, but he would definitely attempt to talk him into sex.

Suddenly, the sound of footfalls outside the door broke the oppressive silence that had fallen between the two younger men. Both turned toward the noise. Confused, Castiel glanced up at Ben’s face, wondering if he had been expecting a visitor. The prospect didn’t seem likely considering the not-so-subtle hints he had dropped about he and Castiel getting a little more… comfortable together in the near future.

Cas bit his lip, unsure of whether he should actually ask Ben about who was at the door. Hesitantly, he opened his mouth to speak. “Were you-“

“Cas?”

Castiel froze, eyes widening. No, it couldn’t be. How… had Charlie actually paid enough attention to know he was here?

“Hey, Charlie told me that some guy kept following you around like a goddamn stalker last night. She said he lived here, and you weren’t at your place so… are you in there?” Castiel had known Dean long enough to recognize the tone of voice he used when trying to seem confident although, on the inside, he could barely contain his fear.

“Fuck,” Ben whispered. Cas watched in fascination as the man’s features contorted, exuding the same amount of dread that clearly filled Dean’s wavering voice. As Castiel had assumed, the visit was not part of Ben’s grand plan. Or, rather, the _rescue mission_ , was not part of his plan.

Excitedly, Cas attempted to sit up. The pain was still there, but he could certainly grin and bear it if it meant he would be reunited with Dean. He had almost made it to a sitting position when Ben was suddenly there, shoving him back down onto the mattress, using more force than he’d used with Castiel before.

“What the hell are you-“

Ben silenced him with the calloused palm of his hand, covering Castiel’s mouth before he could finish his question. He looked terrified, eyes wide and frightened, lips twisted in a pained grimace. The short strands of his blond hair stood up in every direction, as if he had just rolled out of bed. In his haste to shut Castiel up, his gray football shirt had hiked up enough to expose a tanned and well-defined abdomen. Under any other circumstances, the man’s rumpled and spastic appearance would have turned Castiel on. But with the harsh pressure on his mouth and the painful weight of Ben’s body, holding him in place, Cas felt nothing even close to arousal.

“The door’s unlocked!” Ben called back, a smile in his voice. He turned away from the door and back down at his wriggling victim, eying him with pure delight. Castiel felt nauseous- even more so than when he’d first woke up and had to deal with the startling glare of sunshine. If all else failed, Dean would find some way to save him. Or at least avenge him after Ben accidentally- or purposely?- suffocated him in his haste to silence him.

_Creeeaaaaak._

No, Dean wouldn’t get there on time. The door was moving too slowly, Ben’s weight too overwhelming, the oxygen supply in the room too scarce. But, by some miracle, his attacker was pulling his hand away.

Castiel gasped, struggling to draw in air like a desperate fish out of water. He couldn’t get enough of it, high on the rush of being able to breathe fresh air again, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Without even looking up to gauge Ben’s reaction, Castiel drew in one deep breath and prepared to scream. Dean was close enough to hear it, even if it came out as a pathetic little wheeze instead of a full-blown shriek.

Before Cas could, though, Ben was leaning down and claiming his lips, applying pressure that would surely leave behind a bruise. Fingers dragged up his shirt, nails scratched up and down his chest, thighs pressed in around his waist. The little air he’d managed to inhale was swallowed by Ben’s hungry mouth, causing the room to spin around him, careening at a dizzying pace.

“What the _fuck_?”

Ben quickly pulled away. He kept his hands fisted in the fabric of Castiel’s shirt, knuckles brushing against his warm, sweaty skin. His weight remained in place, too, and Cas still couldn’t move. But he wanted to, God, did he want to.

“Who the hell are…” Dean trailed off, and Castiel couldn’t see his face, but he could practically hear the horror in his voice as Ben turned. “ _Benny_?”

Castiel wanted to cry out, to try and explain the disastrous scene that had been unexpectedly thrust upon poor Dean. It was the last thing he’d probably expected to see on the other side of the door when he’d arrived and knocked, hoping to drag his stupid, pathetically hungover boyfriend back to his dorm where he belonged. He hadn’t expected said boyfriend to be trapped beneath the muscular body of the boy who had ruined his life so many years ago.

He felt like the world’s biggest idiot. Ben? Of fucking course that was the shortened form of Benny! It all made sense now. From the sinfully attractive physique, to the forced yet charming demeanor, to the captivating voice- it all pieced together so perfectly. How the hell had someone as intelligent- or who claimed to be intelligent- as Castiel missed it?

Cas croaked out a quick, “Dean!” once more, in one final desperate attempt to bring him back, but was met with the loud clattering sound of a slammed door instead.

This couldn’t be happening. He and Dean had something beautiful and unparalleled, something that all couples would kill to have. It was more than simply chemistry, more than compatibility. Love… yes, that’s what it was. Love in its purest, unselfish form.  It sounded pretty fucking cheesy but it was true, wasn’t it? He had never felt this way about someone else before, not even close. But where was it now? Had it left with Dean’s quickly retreating footsteps? Or with the hungry press of Benny’s lips?

Unable to hold everything in, overcome with disgust and misery, Castiel cried. He cried about Dean and about Benny’s twisted mind. He cried about the pain piercing through his skill and about the sick feeling in his stomach. He cried about the receding sunlight and about the rainfall that had quickly replaced the beautiful morning sunshine. But, most importantly, he cried about that day, months ago, when Dean had pushed a business card across the counter and smiled at Castiel like he had hung the stars in the sky. He cried about it all.

 

* * *

 

“To call, or not to call. _That_ is the question,” Sam mumbled, taking one more step forward before turning on his heel and proceeding in the direction he’d just come from.

He wasn’t sure of the exact length of time he’d been pacing in his room, but he had a pretty good feeling he had been at it for at least twenty minutes. The soft _woosh_ of his socked feet leaving the ground, only to come back down again with a small _thud,_ were the only noises to be heard, punctuating the overbearing silence with its consistent rhythm.

As Sam had suspected, his brother was nowhere to be found. If he had heard right, the phone call from early that morning had been Charlie, and whatever she had said had made Dean freak out. The loud clatter of doors opening and closing along with growled curses had waked Sam from a deep sleep. Alright, no, he hadn’t slept well at all. He might have slept a grand total of 3 hours between the moments he had sat up in bed with sweat dripping down his face and adrenaline coursing through his veins. Brief moments like that every hour or so had kept him from even attempting to get a good night’s sleep.

But he deserved it, didn’t he? The more he thought about what Dean had told him earlier, the more he realized how much of a dick he had been. Looking back on that night, three years ago, when he’d suddenly kissed Gabe as if his life depended on it, he hadn’t been thinking. And to leave the next morning, without even staying for breakfast after Gabe so kindly offered to take him out? What the hell had he been thinking? Someone as genuinely kind as Gabriel didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. Sam had somehow gotten it into his head that a one-night stand made sense in their situation. The idea of a “friends with benefit”-like arrangement with Gabe had always seemed appropriate, but that was only because the two of them fit the “friends” part of the agreement.

No, Dean was definitely right. Gabriel should be with a person, man or woman, who would be willing to spend the rest of their life with him. Anyone would be lucky to be involved with a man like him. He had a good sense of humor, a contagious laugh, an easygoing demeanor, an unparalleled loyalty to every person he cared for- he was, admittedly, a far better man than Sam had been in the past few years.

The decision to continue his visits to Gabe’s shop and heal their broken relationship had started as an attempt to start over again, to give him a clean slate. Things had even seemed to be going the way he planned up until the point he’d gone to Gabriel’s apartment, in hopes to soothe and convince him with the press of hungry lips. Sex- or, in this instance, making love- had always helped to calm Sam. But, looking back on it, Gabe had little to nothing in common with him. Their senses of humors were similar, but that was about where the similarities stopped.

Fuck, how _stupid_ could one person be? Sam cursed to himself and turned once again, burying his fingers in his hair. He had never been in a situation like this before. Anything that came even remotely close didn’t require a lot of work to resolve. They were flings that meant nothing. But Gabe… he meant something to Sam, didn’t he? They had been close friends before that awful night, after all.

Maybe he should call Gabe? Of course, what would it accomplish? He would probably hang up the moment Sam even breathed the word “sorry.” The man’s life was probably filled with fake apologies. To Sam’s knowledge, he hadn’t been the first person to take an interest in Gabriel. Although, he was one of only a few that had ever initiated anything.

The phone call wouldn’t work, plain and simple. The wound was still far too fresh, and the mere sound of Sam’s voice would likely set Gabe off.

But… a text… that could work. He didn’t have to actually speak with Gabe and yet he could get roughly the same message across. A long, well-developed apology was certainly something he could write. Sam wrote all the goddamn time as a lawyer- what was one apology? Easy, right?

As Sam sat down on the end of his bed, staring down at the blank text message open on his phone, he realized just how wrong of an assumption that had been. Where did he even begin? There was so much to say- so much he _could_ say- and it still may not even be enough to bring Gabe back to him.

 _Everything_ , his conscious chided, _tell him everything. Lay it all out for him. That’s what Dean would tell you to do_.

Sam sighed and swiped his fingers aimlessly across the phone screen. Everything… well, he would be sitting here for a while.

He closed his eyes and tried to envision the apology, what exactly he would say, how he would word certain things so as not to sound like a manipulative, lying prick. Gabe would surely think that’s what he was the moment he saw Sam’s name pop up on his phone.

Cautiously, he began to type. He talked about the guilt he’d felt after what he had done, about the foolish mindset of having a “friends with benefits” relationship together, about the humongous idiot he’d been. There was so much to say, but he had to include the most important details. Certain things would only make Gabe angrier.

Finally, after devising a lengthy apology, he read it over once more before pressing the send button with shaky fingers. He held his breath as it processed and “sent” popped up beneath the large message. Now, he would wait. He didn’t really care how long he would have to wait, as long as he got some kind of response, some sort of closure.

Surprisingly, he didn’t have to wait long. A minute or so later, a short reply appeared on the screen. It was- like Gabriel- short, sweet, and to the point.

 

**GABRIEL:**

_I know._

Sam swallowed nervously and licked his lips. Again, he brushed his fingers nervously across the screen, unsure of what reply Gabe’s answer required. Should he send another long, thoughtful message, another plea? Or should he mirror Gabe’s straightforward texting technique and cut right to the chase?

After several moments of consideration, he decided that another couple of paragraphs would be too much. Yes, simple and to the point would be better.

 

**SAM:**

_Are we cool?_

 

He waited anxiously, fingers shaking and heart pounding. The first response had arrived quite quickly, almost immediately after he’d sent his apology and laid his heart on the line. Based on that, the three word question should only take a few _seconds_ to skim over.

Sam almost dropped the phone- although he had a death grip on it- when it began to buzz yet again. Excitedly, he swiped his thumb across the screen and peered down at Gabe’s reply.

 

**GABRIEL:**

_Yeah, we’re “cool”._

 

He couldn’t help but smile. As he read the message, he could practically see the eye roll Gabe would shoot his way for using the phrase “cool.”

In the midst of all of the chaos, Sam felt as if maybe Gabe really did think their relationship had been mended. It didn’t make sense considering the terms they had left on the last time they’d seen one another. But, right now, with the image of Gabriel’s delighted grin in his head, Sam decided to forget about the drama for a little while- for as long as he could, at least.

He felt like a teenage girl as he grinned dumbly down at the screen and quickly typed out a brief and final response.

 

**SAM:**

_Good._

 


	18. Who's To Blame?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, really? So I didn’t just walk in on the two of you sucking each other’s faces off?”
> 
> Cas rolled his eyes because _seriously_?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this has taken me so long! I just graduated this past weekend, and the weekend before that was prom. I've been busier than I thought I would be! Anyways, here you go! I don't think I have any warnings for this chapter... well, other than a great deal of swearing. If that's not your thing, here's your warning.
> 
> As usual, come join me over on [tumblr](http://stilinskistiel.tumblr.com)!

After everything that had happened, Castiel supposed that he should still be crying. Most people would expect him to be a fucking mess right now, pulling into the Winchesters’ driveway with tears pouring down his face. But, as he made his way up the driveway, not a single tear was shed- that phase had already passed. All of the uncontrollable sobbing had stopped, and in its place, anger slowly consumed him.

Adrenaline pumping through his veins, he pushed the gearshift into park. He shoved the door open and climbed out of the car, slamming the door shut behind him. Leveling a glare at the massive house, he strode up the walkway, moving with purpose and confidence.

This was ridiculous. At first, he’d felt he was at fault. He had been the one to overdrink and wake up in the dorm room of the boy who’d broke Dean’s heart. It was a huge mistake, probably his biggest one to date- he knew that. But, in all fairness, he hadn’t known that the guy who’d decided to help him that night was _Benny._ He had referred to himself as “Ben” and had seemed fairly harmless at the time. If he had known just who “Ben” was, he certainly wouldn’t have let him take him back to his dorm. He wasn’t that stupid.

So, once Cas had sorted through all of the evidence from the disastrous previous days, he realized that he wasn’t completely to blame. When Dean had come through the door and seen he and Benny together, he’d immediately jumped to conclusions. He hadn’t stuck around to ask questions and figure out what exactly was going on. No, he’d assumed the worst. It was insane! Dean knew Cas; he would _never_ do something as repulsive as sleeping with that filthy excuse for a human being.

With a frustrated huff, Castiel pressed his thumb to the doorbell, pushing with enough pressure to elicit a quick shot of pain up his arm. He didn’t care. For the most part, he felt numb, and the brief pain didn’t really bother him. The ache in his chest was far worse.

Impatiently, Cas crossed his arms and continued to glare at the door as if it had personally offended him. In a way, it had by simply being a part of the Winchester Mansion. The bastards living there seemed to make a habit of ruining lives. You know, with their stunning eyes and cocky smirks and contagious laughs and- damn, those fucking _suits_. Assholes.

After what felt like a full five minutes- alright, fine, maybe it was only two- the door swung open. Cas suddenly felt nauseous, coming face to face with an exhausted and very disgruntled Dean Winchester. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, hair sticking up in different directions, yet he was dressed in a suit, clearly ready to head out to work. Apparently, he’d expected to spend the day at home with a pathetically hungover Castiel. But, based on the _fantastic_ turn of events from earlier that morning, he would actually be going into work.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he grumbled, quickly looking away from Castiel’s furious leer.

“Wow, nice to see you, too, Dean.”

“Cas, I really don’t want to talk right now. Actually, I don’t _ever_ want to talk about what I just saw. I’m hoping I’ll forget about that shit before it permanently scars me for life.” Dean’s tired grimace was quickly changing into an angry scowl, lips twisting in a way that Cas had never seen directed towards him. “This conversation is over.”

He began to close the door, but Cas reached out and tugged it back open. Okay, he had been upset before, but now? Now he was fucking pissed.

“No, we’re talking about this, whether you want to or not.” Castiel mustered up all of the courage he could and straightened, puffing out his chest in an attempt to look bigger and taller than he actually was. “You clearly got the wrong impression about what was going on with… with Benny and I.”

“Oh, really? So I didn’t just walk in on the two of you sucking each other’s faces off?”

Cas rolled his eyes because _seriously_?

“You can’t possibly think I’m that stupid, Dean! And, God, heartless! Who the hell does something like that? You know me better than that!”

Dean didn’t respond. He finally lifted his gaze to meet Cas’s, emerald green eyes filled with pain. It looked like Castiel had slapped him across the face or kicked him in the nuts or, hell, insulted his precious Baby.

“I… I just never thought you would stoop that low. I mean, it’s… _Benny_ , for God’s sake! I would be pissed if you slept with anyone that wasn’t me, but him… fuck, Cas, what were you _thinking_?” He took a step back, voice thick with the same fear that had been in his tone earlier when he’d knocked on Benny’s door, before things spiraled out of control.

“Dammit, Dean, I didn’t sleep with him! And the kiss- that wasn’t me either! Okay, it was me, but he basically attacked me! I never consented to any of that bullshit! And I never would’ve anyway. Like you said, it’s Benny!”

Dean inched his way back into the house, watching Castiel like he was a vicious predator, poised to jump through the doorway and tear Dean’s head off. He certainly didn’t seem like he was ready to accept Cas’s apology and invite him in.

“What about last night?”

Castiel blinked, not expecting the question.

“What about it?”

“Did you… did you kiss him last night? Before you passed out?”

Castiel’s eyes widened. “What? No, of course not! Dean-“

“Did you kiss him when you were sober? Before you drank those poor bastards out of house and home?”

It was Cas’s turn to take a step back, cringing at the mention of kissing Benny. Now Dean was just being mean. The question about whether he’d been sober made sense, at least, but the comment about overdrinking was completely unnecessary. He’d said it to hurt Castiel, and that wasn’t okay. Not at all.

“Fuck you,” Castiel whispered, working hard to keep the pain out of his voice as he spoke. He couldn’t let Dean know his attempt to hurt him had worked. “I’ll only say this one more time. You. Know. Me. How could you possibly… I would _never_ do that to you!”

Dean remained silent. He didn’t even flinch when Castiel cursed, standing still with his body half-hidden behind the door. His eyes flicked down to the floor, focusing intently on the barely noticeable scuff marks at the tip of his shoes. Cas knew that look, knew what it meant when Dean backed away and stared at his shoes instead of making eye contact. He didn’t plan on apologizing, and, sadly, didn’t seem to believe him.

Castiel scoffed and uncrossed his arms. “Whatever, Dean. I’ll leave you to your pity party. I don’t know why the hell you won’t listen to me, but I can’t deal with this right now. I have a lot on my plate already with school and everything so… yeah, I need to go.”

Dean continued to stare at the ground. He clearly heard every word, though, stiffening slightly as Castiel finished his explanation.

“Just… call me when you get your shit together. Or don’t. Whatever. I don’t fucking care anymore.” Cas turned, not even bothering to check and see if Dean had finally grown a set and looked up again. Like he’d just said, he could care less. If the son of a bitch wanted to think he’d chosen to sleep with Benny and would continue to stubbornly deny every detail Castiel offered to defend himself, fine. Let him! He could wallow in his pity for all Cas cared.

Before he could change his mind, he slumped back into his car, shoved his keys in the ignition and drove. He needed to talk to someone, and Gabe just wouldn’t cut it. The likelihood of him telling Sam everything was far too great. So, probably driving several miles over the speed limit, Castiel made his way to Jo’s.

 

* * *

 

Gabe breathed in the delicious scent of brewing coffee. It always calmed him down, and, on a morning like this, he certainly needed a moment of peace.

Why did this always happen to him? The moment he thought Sam was done, had _finally_ given up on trying to ruin his life, something like this happened. The big guy upstairs must spend every day watching him scramble around, laughing his ass off at how idiotic and pathetic he was.

Gabe pulled out his phone and stared down at the text conversation he had left open. The words hadn’t seemed real last night, as he’d quickly typed them out, but, now, as he looked at them, he couldn’t even remember how they got there.

What the hell had he been thinking? After everything he’d said, Sam probably thought he could waltz right in the door and whisk him off his feet. Or something cheesy like that. But if that was what he thought due to their brief conversation last night, he was sorely mistaken. Gabe had learned his lesson… right?

As if he had just been reading Gabe’s mind, Sam chose that moment to walk in the door. The confident hop in his step, his tidy appearance, his lack of five o’clock shadow- he was perfectly fine. While Gabe paced his room all night, wondering how his responses would backfire on him in the near future, Sam curled up comfortably in his large, luxurious bed and slept like a baby.

Well, not for much longer. Gabe would wipe that stupid little smile right off of his face.

“Wow, the place is really jumping today,” Sam teased, strutting up to the counter. His gaze swept over Gabe as he leaned casually against the counter’s edge.

“Oh yeah, I’m going to have to start kicking people out.” He attempted to use the same tone as Sam, but the fake smile on his lips didn’t quite reach his eyes. Pretending not to be upset with someone? Yeah, it wasn’t really his thing.

The shop was nearly empty. It wasn’t really uncommon on a day like this, around this particular time of day. The most people came in around nine. But Sam usually showed up now, right before the morning rush. Well, he had been coming around the same time as his brother- until they’d fought. Once that had happened, he’d decided to come in about two hours later, ensuring that they wouldn’t run into each other. And when it came to all of that bullshit, Gabe had already decided that the best thing to do would be to stay out of it.

“Definitely. Overcrowding is a very serious matter,” Sam jested, flashing Gabe the smile he knew made the other man’s knees buckle.

Gabe sighed loudly and turned, reaching for a cup. The best- and easiest- way to distract himself from Sam’s attempts at flirting was to prepare the smug bastard’s drink. Like Castiel, he knew Sam’s order by heart. The thought only saddened him, though, because his relationship with Sam paled in comparison to Dean and Cas’s.

“So… where’s Cas?”

“I gave him the day off. The poor son of a bitch… did you hear about what happened? You know, with Dean?”

“Unfortunately,” Sam mumbled, “Dean’s been a total pain in the ass ever since. He’s the grouchiest, mopiest son of a bitch on the face of the earth sometimes.”

Gabe scoffed, unable to keep the little sound from slipping past his lips. The vivid image of Dean poking his head out of a trash can, speaking with Oscar the Grouch’s distinctly disgruntled voice, had popped into his head and now he couldn’t seem to shake it.

“I can believe it,” Gabe chuckled, turning back to face Sam. He hadn’t moved an inch from his casual slouch against the counter. He smiled languidly at Gabe, like a lion lounging in the sun, grinning at the unsuspecting gazelle he knew would soon be his.

“He’s a piece of work.”

“Oh yeah, that’s one way to put it.” Gabe meant the comment to come out as a joke, but, without the smile to go along with it, it sounded harsher than he intended it to. He simply couldn’t make his lips twist into the fond, familiar shape of a smile. He had never really understood how people managed to look happy when they actually felt like punching a hole through the nearest wall.

“I guess,” Sam agreed with a little nod. His eyes flicked down to the warm cup held between Gabe’s shaky fingers. He lingered there for several seconds before looking back up into Gabe’s penetrating gaze. “You should sit with me.”

Gabe flinched. _What?_

“What?”

“You know, while I finish my drink? It won’t take me long to do it. I have a ridiculous heat tolerance.” Gabe knew that tone. It was that of a desperate man, a man at the end of his rope. Had Sam Winchester really become _that_ guy? Because Gabe had been that guy for most of his life, and Sam certainly didn’t fit the criteria.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. I just… would you please?”

This is exactly why he shouldn’t have been so sweet on the phone. It was all coming back to bite him in the ass now. He should probably just kick the son of a-

Wait. No, he was being an idiot. Closure- wasn’t that what he wanted? An end to this crazy game he and Sam kept playing? Last night, he had thought things through, and it had led him to only _one_ peaceful solution: remain friends.

They could handle that. At least, he felt that he could. Sam… well, he was another story. But, at the end of the day, what would it hurt to at least give him a chance? If he fucked things up again and tried to stray down the “friends with benefits” path again, Gabe would just have to shut him down and kick him to the curb. And at that point, it would be easy to turn Sam away. That would be the final straw.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, I mean… now’s as good a time as any.”

Then, that fucking ray of sunshine had to go and smile. Gabe huffed and rolled his eyes. He removed his hands from the steaming hot cup and reluctantly moved out from behind the counter.

“Fine. But no funny business. This really is your last chance, Sam Winchester, so don’t fuck it up.”

Strangely enough, the smile had become significantly smaller.

 

* * *

 

Jo laughed for what felt like the hundredth time.

She and Charlie had been watching reruns of Teen Mom for hours now, critiquing every little thing the mothers did. It was, by far, the most ridiculous show they’d decided to watch together and had offered endless hours of entertainment.

“Who would ever be with that guy?” Charlie exclaimed incredulously. She gestured at the television, a disgusted sneer on her face. “I wouldn’t even think about getting with that.”

“Yeah, well, you’re you,” Jo insisted, shifting the beer in her lap from one hand to the other. She shimmied, moving closer to Charlie. Casually, she rested her head on the other girl’s crossed legs, narrowing her eyes at the teenage girl on the screen who didn’t appear to grasp the concept of baby formula.

“It’s a good thing I’m me, I guess,” Charlie scoffed. She lifted the cold bottle to her lips and tilted her head back, sighing contentedly as the flavor filled her mouth.

Jo loved days like this, when the two of them- plus Cas, of course- sat around, watching stupid television shows and drinking cold beer together. There was nothing else quite like it. She had come to look forward to occasions like this, especially after Castiel’s visits had become sparser.

The poor guy had begun to worry Jo. She had been his best friend since high school and knew him better than anyone. He hadn’t seemed this happy in a while. As a matter of fact, the months leading up to his job at the shop had been pretty miserable. He would hole himself up in his room at night with a depressing movie and shut his friends out. There were no crazy outings, and there certainly weren’t any parties.

That’s why Cas’s latest excursion into the wild world of college parties had scared Jo. Charlie had only meant well when she invited him and had asked Jo before actually going to Cas about it. But Jo had never expected Castiel to accept the invitation. He never went to the damn things. So how had Charlie finally convinced him to leave his room and experience the world?

Of course, things hadn’t gone Castiel’s way. Charlie had already filled her in on what had happened that night. Honestly, most of it wasn’t surprising. Leave it to Cas to finally see alcohol as the source of comfort that many college students thought it to be. He rarely drank, only having an occasional beer at her place at Charlie’s. So give him a keg, a cabinet filled with liquor bottles, and a crowd of eager partiers, just dying to pressure someone into overdrinking, and _bam_ \- shitfaced drunk.

Jo had been furious at first. Why hadn’t Charlie watched out for Cas? He was her friend, too, after all. But the anger had quickly transferred to the prick who’d dragged Castiel back to his dorm. The bastard had clearly been looking for an easy lay, delighted to find a tipsy, clueless sophomore. Little did he know that Castiel was far from clueless. When it came to partying, yes, he didn’t know much. But in regard to everything else? Like math and computers? No, not stupid at all.

That flame still burned in Jo’s chest, dying to get out. She couldn’t wait to find the son of a bitch and make him pay for what he’d done- and what he’d almost done.

But he wasn’t the only one she wanted to tear a new one. The man who had immediately concluded Cas was in the wrong, who hadn’t even considered that Benny had initiated things, was next on Jo’s infamous Shit List: a certain Dean Winchester. She couldn’t seem to follow his logic. Why would Cas, sweet little Cas, ever betray him like that? And with the man who had broken his heart years ago?

It was absurd! Stupid! Dean was being overdramatic and illogical, that’s all there was to it. He was too goddamn stubborn to sit down and talk with Castiel about what had really gone down. Which, after everything the two had been through, was absolutely infuriating.

“God, look at that jackass,” Charlie suddenly scoffed, shaking her head, “that girl better ditch him right now. Run out of that house like her ass is on fire.”

Jo was just about to make another snarky comment about the oblivious girl on screen. She had the perfect retort, but was cut short by the heavy clattering from the doorway.

She quickly sat up, ignoring the dizzy feeling pounding through her skull thanks to the alcohol and swiftness of the gesture. Both girls turned to look at each other and then turned in unison to stare in the direction of the loud clatter. Another knock shook the door, and the two jumped.

“Jo? Charlie?”

Jo let out a relieved sigh and smiled. It was only Cas.

“Yeah, c’mon in, Cas, the door’s unlocked!” She called out, hoping that he would do as she said instead of making her haul her drunken body off the couch to let him in.

The door slammed open, making the two girls jump once again. They stared in shock at the man standing in the doorway, confused by what they saw.

Castiel stood, visibly shaking with fury, with his hand still wrapped tightly around the doorknob. His blue-eyed stare seemed manic, and even his hair was more disheveled than usual. The sleeves of his button-down shirt were no longer rolled up, pushed back to his elbows, and his shirt wasn’t completely tucked into his pants, hanging out in a couple random places. The content little smile that generally graced his face was nowhere to be seen, and, there in its place was a furious grimace

“We need to talk.”


	19. Wicked Schemes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where everyone is scheming and Sam is granted a second chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a couple warnings for this chapter. Both warnings center around Benny- no surprise there. He swears **a lot** in this chapter. All of the characters curse, of course, but he does the most. He also makes **derogatory remarks about homosexuals**. Let me stress: I share none of his beliefs. I intend for them to be ignorant and based on ridiculous logic. He's _supposed_ to sound like a huge idiot and jerk. I wanted to make sure everyone knew that he makes these statements because of the character he is intended to be. Other than that, I have no other warnings. 
> 
> Enjoy, and, as usual, come join me over on [tumblr](http://stilinskistiel.tumblr.com)!

Sam had experienced a lot in his lifetime, no matter how short and, in the grand scheme of things, insignificant it was. In the past, he’d always been the confident one, the guy that approached every situation head on, ready for anything the universe sent his way. But this conversation, this chance to make up with Gabe, was unlike anything he’d ever faced before.

All throughout college and even high school, Sam had done everything he could to avoid the commitment of a relationship. It was a frightening concept, the idea of spending the rest of your life with just _one_ person.  Gabe had been right- even to this day, Sam probably wasn’t ready for that. And the last thing he wanted to do was use the poor guy as his test run. He’d said it once and would gladly say it again: Gabe deserved better.

To be sitting with him, in the same shop that they’d met in a little more than three years ago, was surreal. Considering their history together, it was fascinating to think of the way they’d come full circle. Right back to where the whole thing had started…

“You really think you can handle this?”

Sam looked up, right into Gabe’s wide, inquisitive stare. The uncertainly was written all over his face. He didn’t trust Sam, not like he had before- not like he had before that awful night. It only made sense, though. Frankly, if Sam were completely honest with himself, he wasn’t worthy of Gabe’s trust.

“Yeah, I… yes,” Sam insisted. He tried to pour every ounce of sincerity into the response, desperate to make Gabe understand, make him see just how he felt. “I’ll say it every day if it means you’ll believe me: I’m sorry.”

Gabe sighed loudly. He allowed his hazel eyes to carefully scrutinize Sam’s face, searching for the lie Sam knew he wouldn’t find. He believed every word he’d said. Hell, he felt the apology, the guilt, in his bones.

“Goddammit,” Gabe muttered, shifting anxiously in his seat, “you believe that. I can see it in your eyes- you believe every single word of that. And I really want to believe all of that, too… I really do! I just want this to be over, you know?”

Sam nodded his head in agreement. He knew exactly what the other man meant. He wished they could stop fighting and hated the fact they were always at each other’s necks anymore.

“Are you ready to just be friends?”

“Of co-“

“And none of that ‘friends with benefits’ bullshit you tried to pull last time?”

Oh God, _that_. Sam couldn’t help but laugh. He’d forgotten about that particular suggestion. His brain had clearly repressed it because of how incredibly stupid and juvenile the idea was. He had been different then. Although Gabe might not see it, he’d matured in the past few years. Or at least he felt like he had.

“No, none of that. I swear. I want to be friends again- nothing more.” Sam adopted the pleading tone he’d used earlier and prayed that his “stupid fucking puppy dog eyes”, as Dean had so fondly dubbed them, were working. “Okay?”

Gabe still looked skeptical. The furrow in his brows and worry in his narrowed gaze spoke volumes, revealing all of the anxiety he refused to put into words. It would be a while before he trusted him again- if he ever did- but Sam could accept the uncertainty if it meant they could go back to being friends like before.

“As much as I’ll probably regret it in the future, I’m going to try and give this another shot,” Gabe conceded, never once taking his eyes off of Sam as he spoke, “but, if you mess up again, I’m gone. Understand?”

Sam’s grin widened. It was as close to forgiveness as he was going to get, and, with the way they’d been going back and forth lately, the comment was definitely good enough. He’d take that over the awkward silences and uncomfortable tension any day.

“God yes,” Sam agreed. Although he wanted nothing more than to stand up and drag Gabe into a hug, he remained seated. Instead, he held his hand out expectantly. He wasn’t sure how much would be _too_ much, sending Gabe over the edge and forcing him to take back his agreement.

Gabe glanced down at the extended arm with confusion. Sam inched it closer to the other man and gestured toward the hand resting on the table. Gabe rolled his eyes, but the little smirk on his lips gave him away. The anger and bitterness was slowly but surely fading away.

In turn, he grasped Sam’s considerably larger hand in his and squeezed. As ridiculous as it may seem, shaking hands like that was better than the few heated kisses they’d shared in the past. It was honest, it was genuine, and it was exactly the way things should be.

 

* * *

 

Wow. Just _wow_. This, _this_ is the reason why Charlie was not eager to go out and find a girlfriend or boyfriend right now.

She and Jo had patiently listened to Castiel’s bitching for the past twenty minutes. Neither of them had uttered a single word, watching and listening to their frustrated friend as he went on and on about his problems. He had basically spent the entire time speculating about why Dean refused to believe him, nitpicking every detail, every little instance in which they’d spoken in the past several days. And, well, here’s the thing. Cas was a smart guy, and Charlie loved him to pieces- she really did. But… how could he be so oblivious?

“And then he had the nerve to ask if I’d kissed Benny before I got drunk. Who the hell does that? I mean, that’s just-“

“Cas, buddy?” Charlie quickly interjected. She’d had it. Gossiping and bitching with your friends was fun, sure, and it could keep you occupied for a decent amount of time. Everybody needed a little drama in their life, to spice things up a bit. But she had also gotten to know Dean since he and Cas had started dating. She didn’t know him as well as Castiel, but she knew him well enough to see what the real issue was.

To her surprise, Cas actually stopped talking. He froze mid-rant, jaw snapping shut. His eyes narrowed, and he didn’t look exactly thrilled to be interrupted but quieted nevertheless.

“What?” he huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. He had been pacing the room throughout his entire explanation and was just now coming to a stop. The constant movement had been kind of annoying, to be honest, and it was nice to not have to watch his flailing limbs and stomping feet anymore.

“Here’s the thing. I love you to death, and I know you’re mad at Dean- I totally get it. He’s been pretty stubborn about the whole thing.” Charlie stopped, unsure as to how she should continue. She’d have to choose her next words carefully if she wanted to avoid pissing Cas off.

“But…?”

“But I think you’re being too harsh on the guy,” she finished quickly.

The room went silent. Jo swallowed nervously, moving a little closer to Charlie on the couch, while Cas stiffened, eyes widening. Thankfully, he didn’t immediately berate her. He didn’t say a word and looked away, afraid to meet either girl’s gaze.

“I don’t…”

“No, really,” Charlie continued, “have you ever stopped to think about _why_ Dean is afraid to trust you? Because I think that if you did, you’d see that _you’re_ the one who needs to chill.”

“Charlie,” Jo warned. She was Cas’s first and closest friend, which she assumed gave her the right to rip someone’s throat out if they looked at the guy the wrong way.

“I’m not saying he’s completely innocent in all of this! I’m just… think about it. How would you feel if the first time you saw the dude who broke your heart again was with his damn lips plastered to your boyfriend’s? I mean, Dean _really_ loves you, Cas.”

Castiel finally turned back to face Charlie. The harsh lines no longer marred his features, leaving his face soft and sweet, as it usually was. She liked this Cas so much better. The angry and vengeful side of him was the side Charlie always hoped she’d never have to see.

“The thing is, a long time ago, the guy he had unfortunately fallen in love with had seriously fucked him over. You know the story so I don’t have to explain everything to you. The son of a bitch crushed Dean- _ruined_ him. He just doesn’t want to have his heart broken again.”

The words sounded a lot better when spoken out loud. They came out just the way she’d hoped they would: passionate, honest, and, most importantly, true.

Charlie watched as Castiel’s face cycled through several emotions in an incredibly short amount of time. Shock, pain, guilt, regret- each one clear as day. She watched each one flicker across his face, patiently waiting for him to sort out his feelings.

However, Jo was the person who spoke up first.

“Fuck. Charlie’s right,” Jo agreed, shaking her head. She gestured up at Cas. “You’re a good guy and all, but that’s what Dean thought about Benny, and look what happened there.”

Cas cleared his throat. The expression on his face was priceless. Charlie had never seen him so flustered before. He slowly lowered himself onto the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him. The motion seemed far more painful than it should. Castiel cringed as he moved, practically crumpling in on himself once comfortably seated. To the outside observer, the internal ache appeared to be external, like a sore muscle or bruise. Cas had a habit of doing that. While he was screaming on the inside, the only signs of his internal struggle were his robotic and uncomfortable body movements that should be fluid but were far from it.

“I… shit,” Castiel mumbled, unable to finish his train of thought. He let out a shaky exhale and leaned forward, drawing up his knees to rest his chin on them. The new position made him look smaller, like a little boy sitting in the corner as punishment for disrupting class. Charlie felt tempted to snap a picture of it on her phone and send it into Merriam-Webster to put under the definition of “guilty.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s tough. But it makes sense, huh?” Charlie made sure to use the most soothing tone possible. She didn’t want to spook Cas and send him running.

“Yeah,” he mumbled, his voice cracking unpleasantly.

“Good, so what are we going to do about that son of a bitch Benny?” Jo piped up, a mischievous glint in her round eyes. She nudged Charlie in the side with her elbow and laughed.

“I don’t know, but your boyfriend should be in on it. Don’t you think?” Charlie turned to Castiel for confirmation. She wouldn’t call him if Cas didn’t want her to.

He seemed to mull it over in his head for a few seconds, eyes downcast and brow furrowed, before looking back up into Charlie’s expectant gaze. He flashed her a hesitant smile and nodded his head. Charlie grinned from ear to ear. _Yes_.

Excitedly, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. Dean’s number was easy to find since they had last talked earlier that morning, before shit had hit the fan about the party and Benny. Once she found it, she eagerly pressed the call button and held the phone up to her ear.

And, well, things didn’t exactly go as planned.

_You’ve reached the voicemail of Dean Winchester. I don’t know who you are, but, chances are, I didn’t answer the phone because I can’t at this time- for many reasons. If you know what I mean by this, then know this, too: I love you. I wish that I could pick up the phone right now and talk to you, but I really need some time to myself. I… I’ll see you around. Oh, and if you’re completely confused by all of that, I, uh, apologize, and I’ll get back to you. Thanks._

The entire room went dead silent. No one spoke. Scratch that- no one _breathed_.

Almost too afraid to speak, Charlie finally muttered, “Well. Looks like we’ll be doing this without Dean then.”

 

* * *

 

A football went sailing through the air, landing right in Benny’s arms. He cradled the ball close, sprinting across the field towards the end line. His father had taught him to protect the ball, that doing so was the most important part of the game. Once you had it, don’t lose it. As he ran, the November air hit him with force, fighting ruthlessly against him. He breathed in and quickened his pace.

Launching himself forward, he reached his destination and mercilessly slammed the ball down, cackling in delight. He turned to face his friends, a triumphant grin on his face.

“And _that_ is how you make a touchdown!” He cried excitedly, lifting his fist in the air.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” one of his friends called out, “calm down over there, hot shot. You’re not joining the NFL any time soon.”

Another of Benny’s friends began to laugh hysterically. The entire group quickly joined in, chuckling even as the man in question came storming across the field in their direction, a murderous look in his eyes.

“Shut up,” Benny thundered. He didn’t need to be nice to them or anything. Although they spent a lot of time together, Benny still refrained from addressing any of the bastards present as “friends,” and he certainly didn’t treat them as such. They just so happened to be part of the small group of people with interests and beliefs similar to Benny’s.

He didn’t have much luck when it came to friendships. In the past few years, he’d gone through several friends, all of which ended up leaving because they couldn’t handle the kind of person he was. The last one, as a matter of fact, couldn’t seem to handle his views on sex.

One day, Benny had come home with a random guy, drunk as hell. His intentions were pretty clear. His friend at the time, Garth, had looked flabbergasted as the two stumbled in. He’d taken one glance at the shirtless- and muscular, _goddamn_ \- sophomore clinging to Benny’s side and sneered in disgust.

“You’re kidding,” Garth scoffed. Benny rolled his eyes and continued to drag the tipsy boy behind him, heading straight for his bed.

“Nope, not at all.”

“But I thought you weren’t…? You’re the biggest fucking homophobe I’ve ever met!” Garth had seemed pretty pissed as the absurdity of Benny’s actions began to sink in. He narrowed his eyes skeptically.

“Yeah, well, not tonight I’m not.” And with that, he’d sent Garth out of the room. He hadn’t been surprised when he never heard from him again. Most people couldn’t handle that side of Benny- sometimes, he couldn’t even handle it himself.

That was it, his strange sexual preferences, the thing that usually drove most people away. They didn’t understand how he managed to complain about homosexuals, “fucking faggots” as he called them, and yet was still able to turn around and screw them senseless.  Well, it was none of their goddamn business, that’s what it was. Some days, he wanted something a little different, that’s all.

There might be a Monday that he’d rather take home a tall, beautiful brunette with the tits of a porn star. But, the following Monday, he might pick a lean male soccer player with incredible abs and an unbelievable stamina in the bedroom. He liked to keep his options open.

Of course, he certainly didn’t advertise his sexual fluidity. What would people think of him if they thought he liked giving it to other guys up the ass? They wouldn’t want them on their football team, that’s for sure. He wouldn’t want _that_ on his team so he knew they wouldn’t. He never asked any of his “friends” about their views on homosexuality, but his assumptions were based on sound logic, right? So why even bother asking?

There was, however, one particular type of guy he refused to let anywhere near his bed. Whenever a boy walked up to him in a club, sporting freckles and wide green eyes, he recoiled. If they also had short chestnut hair and the stocky build of an athlete, he had to physically distance himself from the person. And, worst if all, if their legs even showed the slightest sign of being bowlegged, he actually had to leave the bar. That was the end of his search for the night.

 _Dean Winchester_ … God, he thought he’d seen the last of that bastard.

But, being the lucky guy that he was, Benny had made a pass at none other than Dean’s _boyfriend_ at the party last night. Since when had Dean been interested in younger men? The last he’d heard of him, the guy was sitting pretty in a sprawling mansion, working as the head of his own firm. Well, he shared it with his brother, but still. He was loaded. And yet, even with all of that at his disposal, he had chosen some random college kid… weird.

Oh well, he didn’t get it, but whatever.

“So, did I tell you guys who I saw this morning?” He wondered, gesturing at the sweaty boys gathered around him. The nearest one, Gordon, spoke up for the group.

“Nope, who?”

“Dean-fucking-Winchester,” Benny snarled, spitting the name out it as if it had left a bad taste in his mouth. Which, as a matter of fact, it had. It tasted like the cheap beer served at high school parties and the dirty socks thrown haphazardly into gym bags in locker rooms.

“What? Really?” Another guy- Zach- chortled.

“Yeah. Apparently that guy I helped out at the party last night was his boyfriend.” Benny rolled his eyes and chuckled, like it was the most ridiculous concept in the world.

All of the raucous laughter stopped. The boys took a step back, moving together in an eerily well-synchronized way. Gordon cleared his throat loudly and turned to each member of the group, eyes wide and horrified.

“What?” Benny hated feeling out of the loop.

“Um… that guy you helped out? Didn’t you say his name was… Castiel?” Zach looked terrified. He stammered through the question, tripping over the strange name. Benny eyed him warily. It was like the son of a bitch had seen a ghost.

“Yeah, why?” Benny didn’t like the sudden tension in the air- not at all.

“I had no idea that guy was even… well, you know. I didn’t know he swung that way, played for the same team…”

Benny scoffed. It figured that his friends would be too afraid to say “homosexual” or even just “gay.” The second they used one of those words when describing Benny, though, they were gone. No second chances- _gone._

He was about to make a crude comment about Castiel but stopped. If these guys, some of the most widely known names on campus, didn’t know about Dean and Castiel’s relationship, no one did. Their little fling was a secret.

“So they haven’t gone public yet?” Benny asked. Already, a plan formed in his mind, slowly piecing together. It was devious, unexpected, and smart, like every one of his plans.

“No…” Gordon mused, the beginnings of a smirk taking shape on his face. He had known Benny long enough to understand his thought process. He might not develop the schemes like Benny did, but he still gave input and did whatever he was told, like the perfect little minion that he was.

“You have something in mind?” Zach asked excitedly. But he already knew the answer.

“Oh yeah,” Benny purred, a mischievous glint in his blue eyes.

He had something in mind alright. It was amazing, the perfect way to crush Dean Winchester, once and for all. The look on his face when he’d walked in the door and seen he and Castiel together was explanation enough. The horror and pain, the way his lips trembled and eyes watered- he was head over fucking heels in love.

The easiest way to end him? Take away the one thing that meant the most to him. 


	20. Crashing Into Shore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “See, it wouldn’t work if people knew how obvious they were. If they realized they weren’t as subtle as they thought they were in their little idealistic dream worlds, that their damned body language gave everything away, they’d try to stop it, and then what would I do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _Finally_. Yeah, I know, I suck. I left you all with a pretty nasty cliffhanger... oops.
> 
> Anyway, there's a lot of development in this chapter. As you can imagine, something big's coming. The action will be in upcoming chapters- that's for sure. You meet Chuck, the bartender, and there are many important conversations going on. I don't really have any warnings besides this: **Dean turns to alcohol as a way to make himself feel better**. 
> 
> That's it! As always, come join me on [tumblr](http://nezumistiel.tumblr.com)!

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but this is probably the best place for you to be right now.”

It was moments like this, with Gabe’s hand resting reassuringly on his shoulder, that Castiel remembered exactly why he’d eagerly accepted the job at the coffee shop.

He always knew just what to say. If Cas came into work with anything other than a delighted grin on his face, Gabe pulled him to the side and asked him what was wrong. He never hesitated. Gabe had a knack for determining a person’s mood before they even opened their mouth to speak. When Cas had asked once, wondering how he made the ability look so effortless, Gabe had smiled and explained, “A person’s actions speak a whole hell of a lot louder than their words.”

“Still, what gives them away? What do they _do_ that lets you know how they’re feeling?”

In typical Gabe fashion, he’d shrugged as if it were no big deal but grinned cheekily, like a kid who’d gotten away with snatching a cookie from its jar without permission. “Oh c’mon, Cassie, I can’t tell you.”

“And why not?”

“You persistent little shit,” Gabe snorted, shaking his head, “why? Why would I ever reveal my secrets? What good would that do me?”

Cas didn’t have an answer for that one.

“See, it wouldn’t work if people knew how obvious they were. If they realized they weren’t as subtle as they thought they were in their little idealistic dream worlds, that their damned body language gave everything away, they’d try to stop it, and then what would I do?”

Castiel still couldn’t come up with a response and settled for a little nod instead. He understood. Gabe didn’t want to be caught. He didn’t want anyone to know how perceptive he truly was. Only the people closest to him would know that he could practically read others’ thoughts.

So, when Gabe had insisted that he come into work, Castiel had gladly obliged. He was right after all. Cas had never had a problem with going into work. As a matter of fact, the prospect of _missing_ work concerned him far more than coming in.

He loved Gabe’s shop. The fragrant smell of brewing coffee and faint aromas of fresh-baked pastries had always held a great deal of appeal for Castiel. The little coffee shop was incredibly peaceful. In the few months he’d been working there, it’d come to serve as a place of tranquility and escape for him.

But not today. The excuse to get out of his dorm was nice, but his speculations about Dean were making it difficult to focus. The simple act of brewing a latte even posed a challenge. He didn’t know how to feel. If Dean came in, Cas would try to sit down with him and have a rational conversation about their relationship. After talking to Jo and Charlie, it was clear that Dean’s behavior had nothing to do with how he felt about Cas. It had a lot more to do with fear of rejection or loss, which, now, Castiel understood. Maybe not completely, but he never would be able to considering he hadn’t been crushed like Dean had been. Convincing Dean to trust him would be especially difficult- he knew that.

On the other hand, what if Dean didn’t come in at all? Was that any better? In the past, when Dean didn’t come in one day for coffee, there had been a reason for it. And not just some half-assed excuse either. Worse yet, if Dean still couldn’t muster up the courage to talk to Cas, it would prolong their separation. Castiel wasn’t sure how long he could take it, being away from Dean, being without any sense of closure.

“I don’t know whether to hug him or slap him in the face the next time he comes in,” Gabe scoffed. He set the rag he’d been furiously scrubbing at the counter with down and turned to face Castiel. “I can only imagine what it’s like for you.”

Cas smiled weakly. He really didn’t know. He had been mad before, but most of the anger was gone by this point. The more he’d thought about, sitting curled up in front of his television watching Battlestar Galactica reruns, the more he’d started to feel sorry for Dean. How awful it must be, not being able to trust a single person other than your brother. Although Cas had a few siblings, he wasn’t close to them, not by any means. The only one who ever took an interest in his life was Anna, and he had slowly come to terms with the disappointing fact that she only cared because their parents used her as a spy.

As a kid, the tension between Castiel and his parents had been practically unbearable. Most of the other children at school made fun of him, bullying him simply because he was smart, as is always the case, it seems. He didn’t even attempt to make friends after a while. The effort was far too great, and he found that he was content on his own.

Then Jo had come along and changed everything. She had opened the door for him, teaching him about the perks of a close friendship. Now, he had several people he felt he could depend on. However, one of these people, the few individuals he could actually confide in, was having trouble putting the same amount of trust in him.

“I’m not really mad at him anymore,” Castiel admitted. He turned and set a steaming mocha on the counter, smirking at the customer, an older man, waiting patiently for his drink. As distracted as he may be, Cas didn’t miss the amused expression on the man’s face as he accepted his coffee and walked off.

“I just want to talk to him. I want… I want to try and help him. I’m not sure how I can, but whatever he needs me to do, I’ll at least give it a shot. And if I can’t… well, I at least want closure,” Cas continued. He ran his fingers through his hair and leaned back against the counter, closing his eyes briefly. He inhaled and, after holding his breath for a few seconds, exhaled.

“Well, I definitely know where you’re coming from.” Gabe sidled his way closer, bumping his hip teasingly against Castiel’s. “And you know what? Guys are a royal pain in the ass sometimes.”

Cas couldn’t help but laugh. He shook his head and cracked one eye open, peering down at Gabe. He was staring off into the distance, as if the “guy” he spoke of was standing at the front of the shop at that moment. That faraway look… Castiel wondered if he and Sam had made up yet. It was about time the two worked something out.

“Thank God you’re here.”

_Speak of the devil._

The last couple times Cas had seen Sam, the man had looked a little unkempt. No one else besides Gabe would notice it, of course, but he knew the Winchester’s. If they had to go into work or be out in the public eye, not a single strand of cleverly mussed hair was out of place. Their suits were always pressed and clean, shoes shiny and spotless, smiles white and radiant. They always managed to look spotless. But, recently, Sam hadn’t kept up the unnaturally neat appearance of a Winchester. His hair sometimes seemed a little oily, and, the one morning, he had a small food stain on the cuff of his right sleeve. Castiel had noticed it when Sam had paid for his drink.

Today, however, he looked like the brilliant ray of sunshine Cas remembered from when they’d first met. From head to toe, he looked flawless. Even with the frustrated expression on his face, Sam still exuded the warmth and kindness of an enthusiastic puppy.

“Nice to see you, too, Sam,” Gabe jested, leaning his elbows on the counter. Cas looked down at him, shocked. That was another thing. When Sam and Gabe had been “fighting”, they never teased each other. There were times when one of them would get a mischievous smirk on their face and would open their mouth to speak but would freeze. A frown would quickly take the grimace’s place, and they were back to being bitter rivals once again.

Sam flashed Gabe a little smirk, but immediately turned his attention back to Castiel. He strode quickly to the counter, determination in his gaze. He looked like a man on a mission.

“Listen, you need to talk to Dean,” Sam pleaded.

Castiel’s eyes widened. He took a step back from the counter, eying Sam wearily. Did he have any idea that he had already tried to get in touch with Dean? He sounded desperate, though, so even if he had, maybe he didn’t care- maybe he was at the end of his rope.

“I tried to call him a couple days ago. His voicemail made it pretty clear that he didn’t want to talk to me- or see me- for a while.” Cas hated having to explain Dean’s request to Sam, of all people. He wished that he could lie and tell Sam that he was too afraid to approach his older brother. That certainly wasn’t the case, of though. He had taken the time to drive to Dean’s house to try and talk some sense into him. Castiel had gone to all of that trouble, and now it was Dean’s turn to make an effort.

“I get that,” Sam continued, rolling his eyes, “but if someone doesn’t talk to him, he’s going to drink himself to death.”

What? Since when had Dean been like that?

“What are you talking about?” Castiel felt the worry eating away at his already concerned thoughts. Dean had never mentioned anything about a drinking problem. As a matter of fact, with the way he had berated Cas for his alcohol excursion the other night, it surprised him to think that Dean could be so hypocritical.

“He hasn’t done this in a while. The last time he did was right before college, after he and Benny separated. It was at its worst back then, but, thankfully, I was there to keep the stupid jackass from killing himself.” Sam glanced down at the stack of napkins on the counter. He sighed loudly. “Then, his freshmen year of college happened.

“He didn’t want to make any friends after what had happened. So, he partied. Without anyone to hang out with, he got bored easily, and the best source of entertainment came in the form of constant partying. I had to save him that time, too.

“Luckily, as the years passed, he improved. Sophomore year, junior year, senior year- each one passed without another incident. It was a last resort for him.” Sam grimaced and looked back up into Cas’s concerned stare. “He must be really upset to resort to that.”

Castiel couldn’t believe it. The habit seemed incredibly uncharacteristic for Dean. He was confident, stoic, loyal… Of course, nobody’s perfect.

“And you think… you actually think I’ll be the one to bring him out of it?” He couldn’t understand why Sam hadn’t tried to get through to him. They were brothers, and, from what he’d heard, they seemed close, closer than they let on- and that was saying a lot.

Suddenly, Gabe scoffed. “Oh, c’mon, Cas, are you really that thick?”

Castiel blinked. He didn’t like feeling clueless, but, he certainly was at that moment.

“The guy loves you so much it’s stupid,” Gabe explained. He looked like he was going to speak, but then stopped. The smile slowly forming on his lips appeared to be more genuine than any Castiel had seen in the past… well, probably the last couple months, when Sam had first walked back into his life. “And that’s the best kind of love. The ridiculous, childish, pathetic kind.”

Sam visibly stiffened. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at Gabe as he finished his advice. It hurt Castiel just to watch. Either he had no idea Cas had seen or simply didn’t care.

“I don’t think you can do it, Cas,” Sam explained, speaking softly, “I _know_ you can.”

 

* * *

 

_Well, it’s been a long fucking time since you’ve hit rock bottom like this, huh, Dean?_

For the past few years, Dean had actively avoided bars like this. The place wasn’t exactly upscale, but it wasn’t a dump either. Dean had been searching for a bar that didn’t fit either extreme. If it were too fancy, Sam would easily find him and Cas would surely tag along. If it were too trashy… well, even _he_ wouldn’t want to be there. His plan to evade the two wasn’t worth being robbed or beaten up in a dark alley.

Dean sighed and lifted the glass to his lips, savoring the whiskey’s sharp taste and the familiar burn of the liquid gliding down his throat. This was his fourth drink of the night, and he could certainly feel the alcohol kicking in.

He felt better, though, sitting alone, surrounded by people who were also struggling with some kind of personal issue. The tall, rugged man to his left might believe his wife is cheating on him. The petite woman to his right might have been laid off from a job she’d held for years. Dean didn’t know if either scenario was true, but it was entertaining, looking around the bar and giving each person a backstory.

“I would ask if you want another one, but I feel like that’s a stupid question.”

Dean slowly looked up from his glass. The bartender, a fairly short man with bright blue eyes and mussed brown hair, met his gaze and grinned, the dazzling smile standing out against his stubble. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Why? Because you think I’m done or because you think I’m a fucking lush that plans on drinking until someone has to drag my sorry ass out of here?” Dean wasn’t in the mood for the guy’s attitude. He didn’t need to have someone remind him of how pathetic he was.

The bartender chuckled and shook his head. “No, you idiot. I think you need another drink because something’s _clearly_ bothering you.”

Dean scoffed. The man didn’t look upset by his customer’s somewhat rude behavior. His wide eyes continued to stare right into Dean’s, as if he could see into his soul. Uncomfortable, Dean peered down into his nearly empty glass once again.

“I’m right, though, aren’t I?”

The son of a bitch didn’t know when to stop! Dean decided the ridiculous question wasn’t worthy of a response. The guy was just looking for some poor bastard with a depressing sob story to tell. And Dean wasn’t up for it.

“The name’s Chuck, by the way,” the bartender- Chuck- continued, as if Dean had actually asked, “I figure you want to know my name before you vent about your little situation to me.”

“It’s not little,” Dean grumbled.

“Ah! So there _is_ a situation!” Chuck cried triumphantly. Dean couldn’t see the smug bastard’s face, but he sounded pretty pleased with himself. “I’ve been known to give some pretty good advice. I know more than you’d expect a bartender at a place like”- he gestured around the bar- “this to know.”

Dean couldn’t keep up the stubborn silence any longer. He glanced up, eyebrows raised. This Chuck guy really was cocky. Dean wanted nothing more than to present him with a problem he couldn’t solve- he could never pass up the prospect of a challenge.

“Really?”

“Why would I lie? Customers come in here all the time just to talk to me. Well, and to drink. Anyone that walks through those doors is looking to drink a little- or a lot.” Chuck chuckled softly at his own joke. Dean, however, didn’t see the humor in it.

“Okay. If you’re so sure of yourself, I guess I can tell you what’s on my mind,” Dean conceded. He brought his elbows up to rest on the bar, resting his head in his hands.

Chuck smirked. He set down the pint glass he’d been scrubbing and focused all of his attention on his latest puzzle. The way his eyes twinkled with excitement furthered Dean’s apprehension. He wanted nothing more than to stump the bastard.

“Here’s the deal…” And with that, Dean gave Chuck a brief summary of he and Castiel’s history together. He left out the intimate parts and anything that didn’t seem pertinent to recent events. Once he reached the part of his explanation concerning the party and morning after, Chuck hummed in approval. He watched Dean with a knowing look, fingers tapping anxiously on the countertop, but allowed him to finish before speaking.

“And now I don’t know whether to trust him,” Dean finished, peering down into his drink as he ran his finger along the glass’s rim, “Cas… I don’t think he would lie to me, but I can’t be sure. It wouldn’t be the first time someone crushed me like that.”

Chuck sighed, and Dean watched out of the corner of his eye as the bartender’s fidgeting fingers stilled. He hadn’t meant to become so engrossed in his explanation. He didn’t like it when other people knew how he was feeling. The idea of burdening other people with his own petty emotions made Dean uncomfortable. Any problem that came up in his life could easily be solved on his own. There were many in the past that he’d handled without the help of his younger brother.

But he’d told Chuck exactly how he felt. It was too late to go back.

“I see,” Chuck mumbled. His eyes flickered down to Dean’s penetrating gaze and then off into the distance. “Well, I’m going to get straight to the point. This Cas of yours? He’s telling the truth.”

“And how do you know that?” Dean grumbled skeptically. Oh yeah, this guy was totally the next Yoda, offering advice to people from all over the universe. Dean flinched as the thought crossed his mind. It brought back memories of curling up with Cas on his bed, sharing a bucket of popcorn, watching Star Wars together.

“Because, stupid, he’s crazy about you,” Chuck explained, as if the information were common knowledge. “I might not know everything that you two have been through together, but I know enough. He loves you- he would never cheat on you. I can tell.”

 _No, no_. He didn’t know what he was talking about. Those words were only spoken to relieve Dean, to tell him exactly what he wanted to hear. This random guy, this _Chuck_ , didn’t know a goddamn thing. He was a bartender- he knew nothing about love or what it felt like to be cheated on, to not be good enough for the one person you cared the most for.

“You should make up with him. Talk it out, tell him how you’re feeling. He seems like a good guy. He’ll understa-“

“Stop.”

Chuck’s eyes widened, shocked by the outburst. He did as he was told, but certainly didn’t look happy about it.

“I know you’re trying to be nice, giving me advice and everything, but that’s a load of bullshit,” Dean growled. Chuck cringed, hurt, but he continued. “You’re telling me what I want to hear, and that works for some people but not me.”

“Listen…”

“No, it’s okay. If you’d please, I’d like another drink and some privacy.” The request was harsh, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to care. At this point, the only thing that would help was more alcohol. Once he had enough, his brain would become fuzzy, and he wouldn’t have to dwell on all of the conflicting thoughts swirling around in his head.

Dejected and disappointed, Chuck grunted a quick, “okay” and lifted the pint glass off the bar, immediately going back to toweling it dry. Dean didn’t miss the pitying glance the bartender sent his way before proceeding with his work.

The pity was expected but not necessary, not at all. Dean didn’t need anyone’s sympathy. He was the idiot who had fallen for the wrong person- again. He was the fool who had let someone in, making the same mistakes he’d made back in high school.

Castiel had burrowed deep beneath his skin. It was as if he were now a part of Dean. Cas knew almost everything there was to know about him- more than Benny had known. They’d kissed, held each other, slept together; they were closer than Dean and his childhood friend had ever been.

Things weren’t as bad as they’d been the first time Dean had loved someone. They were worse.

 

* * *

 

Jo hated this class.

As a matter of fact, Jo didn’t enjoy most of her classes. She loved the idea of education, and she’d always considered herself a decent student. The concept of learning new things- important things that she would likely use in the future- fascinated her. That part of the whole experience wasn’t the issue. The idea of sitting in a lecture hall, listening to some guy incessantly drone on and on about the same topic in a monotone for a couple hours, was what bothered her.

By this point, she’d been sitting in the lecture hall for an hour (although it felt more like twelve). The hall didn’t have a single window, unfortunately, and she was forced to peer down at the margins of her notebook instead, doodling an assortment of random things at the top of the page. Her laptop also sat open in front of her, a second option if she couldn’t keep up with the professor’s rambling.

Jo lowered her pen and slowly dragged it across the page in a curve, carefully sketching a wave as it came crashing into the shore. Brilliant blues, illuminated by the dazzling rays of sunlight on a bright Summer day. She missed Summer. Fall and Winter held little to no appeal for her.

She was about to add the sandy shore when something caught her attention. Curious, she raised her head and did a double-take. She hadn’t imagined it after all.

A small group of boys a few rows in front of her had huddled closer. She couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but something about the conversation felt sinister, each person speaking in hushed tones, chucking menacingly under their breath every now and then. Jo wasn’t stupid. The bastards looked like they were scheming- in the middle of class, no less. And okay, she really didn’t have much room to talk. She spent most classes doodling in the margins of her notebook, occasionally jotting down a few sentences, any information that seemed remotely important, but _still_.

One of the boys met her gaze. Jo didn’t know him all that well, but the mischievous glint in his eyes seemed familiar. The entire group seemed familiar, actually. She felt like she’d seen them on campus before, arranged in a similar manner, clustered together while they snickered and schemed. But where exactly had she seen them before?

Her eyes widened. _The football field._

The sons of bitches were on the football team, and, from what she’d heard, were pretty tight with Benny, the campus’s temporary, homophobic jackass. _As if it needed one_ , Jo thought bitterly.

The boy- Gordon, maybe?- didn’t look away when their eyes met. Each boy immediately stopped talking, though, and they all turned as a group to stare at the nosy girl eavesdropping on their little in-class meeting. As if they’d done it many times before, they shot a collective glare in her direction, each one narrowing their eyes at the exact same moment.

However, Jo refused to back down. It was in her nature. She was born to be headstrong, to be stubborn and resilient in the face of danger. Besides, a group of arrogant sons of bitches like that were far from being a threat.

Even in high school, she hadn’t seen any of the local bullies as threats. The harassment of their peers made the sick sons of bitches feel better about themselves, which was, in her opinion, severely fucked up. They weren’t worth her time or worth her concern.

Bullies… That’s how she’d befriended Cas back in high school. Well, in a way. The football team, the basketball team- for some reason, every sports team had formed a grudge against the poor, innocent Castiel, shuffling nervously down the hallway each day with a substantial stack of textbooks pressed to his chest. He didn’t deserve it. That’s what drove Jo mad. Why pick on someone so sweet? Someone who, at the time, could’ve easily broken under the pressure and given up on life before even heading off to college?

So Jo didn’t hesitate to glare right back at the shitheads. What could they possibly do to hurt her? _Nothing_. Not a goddamn thing.

Suddenly, Gordon’s grin widened, the look in his eyes turning especially wicked. The two sharp canine teeth that protruded when he smiled resembled that of a shark, predatory and merciless. Jo felt her lips twist into a grimace. Gordon took notice and, being the cocky son of a bitch that he was, winked.

Jo froze. The gesture seemed to have struck a nerve. Everything became clear in that moment, as Gordon and his lackeys watched her from across the room, still gathered as if they may resume their chatter at any moment.

They _were_ scheming something. Their conversation _was_ sinister- it simply had to be.

Because that face… now she knew why Gordon and his group looked so familiar. This particular group of ignorant bastards had a mean streak, a wicked and horribly nasty mean streak unlike any other. They knew Benny. More specifically, they were Benny’s friends.

And, just as she’d recognized them, they recognized her. That’s why they’d shut up the second she took an interest in their little meeting.

Jo felt like she might be sick. Of course they didn’t want her to hear a single word of their conversation. She was friends with Cas, the boy who’d gone home with their leader that night, the boy who’d almost slept with the sleazy son of a bitch.

He was also the boy dating Benny’s ex-best friend, the same friend that had unintentionally developed feelings for Benny all of those years ago and had suffered from the homophobic bastard’s wrath.

It only made sense that he would want to destroy Dean. She may not be as deranged or ignorant as Benny, but she had certainly met people with the same tendencies. She had a pretty decent idea of how the bastard’s thought process worked

Benny was coming for Dean. Or, more specifically, he was coming for Cas.


	21. Leap of Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one where Gabe and Charlie meet, Dean and Sam talk (again), and Cas tries to hide his feelings from the person who knows him best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone! First of all, I just want to thank everyone who's given this fic a chance and has hung around this long. You're all fantastic, and I appreciate your support!
> 
> Okay, now, warnings. I have a few for this chapter, but let me get one thing straight. As I said with Benny, just because I make a character a certain way in this story doesn't mean I _hate_ them. Each character has a purpose; I'm a strong believer of that principle in writing. So, when you learn about Dean and Sam's father, please don't automatically assume I hate John Winchester. I try to remain neutral about his character. He is simply the way he is in this story because I need him to provide a reason for Dean turning to drinking when he's upset. So don't immediately freak out and bash me for making their father the way he is.
> 
> I would consider that a warning. **Sam and Dean's father has a drinking issue**. Additionally, there are **brief mentions of physical abuse, Dean continues to drink,** and there are **brief mentions of self-hate**. Dean is in a rough place right now. Cas is, too, so he's a little hard on himself. 
> 
> Thank you all and _please_ don't hesitate to come over to [tumblr](http://nezumistiel.tumblr.com) to talk and ask questions! Or even [twitter](http://twitter.com/nezumistiel)!

Charlie Bradbury, Queen of Dramatic Entrances.

Or, at least, that’s what she wished people would call her. The name suited her pretty well. And if not that then the Queen of “Holy Shit, Where Did She Come From?” would also work. After all, the little jittery man behind the counter certainly looked surprised when she burst through the front doors of his shop.

He stared back at her in shock with wide, honey golden eyes. _They’re kind of pretty_ , she noted. His features were on the softer side, but something about the few wrinkles lining his face made him seem older. It was more than just an age thing, though. The bunched skin hinted at a challenging life, one that had weathered the man down over the years and transformed him into the person he was now. His face was that of a man with far more wisdom than he was given credit for.

Charlie smirked and placed her hand on her hip. She paraded her way over to the counter, never once breaking eye contact. Surprisingly, the guy didn’t shy away from the intensity of her gaze. He watched her the entire time, and, as she got closer, his lips twitched up into a lopsided grin.

“My, my, my, the Queen has arrived,” he jeered, leaning against the counter. He continued to stare right at Charlie, not even the slightest bit intimidated. It was strange. Men of his height usually regarded her with fear and trepidation. In seventh grade, Charlie had stopped growing at a solid 5’8”, and since then, she’d encountered men a few inches shorter than her that looked at her with contempt. This guy, however, looked smug for some odd reason, not scared.

“That’s kinda rude to say to some girl you just met, don’t cha’ think?” Charlie quipped. She had reached the counter and got a better look at the strange little man watching her. Although he was acting cocky and confident, his expression seemed guarded, as if he had something to hide. He appeared to be one of those “there’s more than meets the eye” kind of guys.

“I’ve heard about you. And, let me just say, you don’t disappoint.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, you walked through that door like you owned the place,” Gabe chuckled. He reached up and pushed an errant strand of hair behind his ear. He kept it fairly long, almost reaching his shoulders.

“Nah, this isn’t really my kind of hangout. I’m here for a friend,” Charlie drawled, shrugging her shoulders, “I’m guessing you’re Gabriel?”

“Gabe,” he corrected.

Gabe stepped out from behind the counter, an amused glint in his eyes. His eyes raked over Charlie, but, although she’d normally chalk it up to him being a creepy perv that wanted to check her out, it didn’t feel that way. It reminded Charlie of the way Jo looked her over before they went out to the movies or a party, after she had chosen an outfit. Casual and curious, appreciating her but not in the lingering way that usually meant the person intended to hit on her.

“Sure, Gabe,” she agreed. Smiling, Charlie took a step closer to the shorter man. Again, she was pleasantly surprised by the ease with which Gabe accepted their height difference.

“So why did Cassie send you here? Something wrong?”

Charlie rolled her eyes. “That’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one. Define ‘wrong.’”

“As in, do I have to drive down to the hospital to scoop up Dean because the stubborn son of a bitch drank too much? Because I’ve been waiting all afternoon to get a call like that.”

He had a point. Jo had filled her in about Dean’s drinking problem, and she hadn’t stop thinking about it ever since. Hundreds of scenarios had played out in her head, invading her thoughts as she attempted to carry on with her boring-ass everyday life. Dean careening down the street and hitting a tree; Dean t-boning someone as he sped through a red light; Dean stumbling out of his car, only to end up with his face submerged in five inches of standing water as he tripped and landed in a puddle. Okay, the last one had just been a funny afterthought, but the rest seemed entirely possible.

“Nope. At least, not that I’ve heard. Sam will take care of him, though, so we probably shouldn’t worry about it,” Charlie assured Gabe.

He nodded. The mention of Sam’s name seemed to spark something inside of him. He shifted anxiously on his feet and cleared his throat, eyes wandering to the surrounding tables instead of meeting Charlie’s confused stare. She could vaguely remember Cas mentioning Gabe and Sam having a… strange relationship. That would explain the weird behavior.

“But we _should_ worry about Cas. He can do some pretty stupid shit when he’s feeling down,” Charlie explained, “You’ll have to keep an eye on him while he’s here at the shop. Jo and I can watch him at school.”

“Makes sense.”

“Duh,” Charlie trilled. She adopted her best shit-eating grin and winked. “I wouldn’t have brought it up if I didn’t think it would work. I’m not stupid.”

Instead of being offended by Charlie’s brash comment, Gabe winked back and took a step toward the counter. “Whatever, smartass. Now, do you want something to drink or not?”

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“What the- why not?”

“I don’t like it.” Charlie answered simply. She continued to smirk at him, swelling with pride when Gabe, for once, seemed insulted. _Show him who’s boss_ , Charlie’s subconscious encouraged.

“Wow… how have you managed to stay friends with Cas? The guy practically gets a hard-on when he sees a coffee pot.”

And, hell, it had been a long time since she’d laughed so hard.

 

* * *

 

When Dean looked back on that night, he knew that he’d been lucky to make it home alive.

After spending a couple hours at the bar, Dean found himself behind the wheel of his car once again. Not a single patron had tried to stop him as he left, keys clutched tightly in his hands. Chuck might’ve tried, but, luckily, he hadn’t seen Dean leave. It was stupid; he knew that. He knew, deep down that, with that much alcohol in his system, he shouldn’t be driving, but why should he care?

So what if he didn’t make it home? So what if he sped past stop signs? So what if he drove like a goddamn bat out of hell? _So what_?

He didn’t care. No, if he struck another car or hit a pole, it would probably be the best thing for him.

Dean squinted his eyes, struggling to make sense of the road before him. He had to look at everything through a drunken haze, peering out at the world around him like a mist had settled over it, like it were spinning around him. He blinked once, twice, but nothing changed. He could barely make out the yellow lines or street signs as he passed them.

Maybe, just maybe, he would rather not make it home alive. What good would it do him? Returning there to confront his furious younger brother or said brother’s… whatever the fuck Gabe was to Sam now. Worse yet, what if Cas were there? Dean could only imagine what he would have to say when they spoke again.

Cas had every right to be mad. He had every right to despise Dean, to loathe him, to hate his fucking guts. Every negative thought that he’d likely had about Dean in the last few days was completely justified.

_Get the fuck out of my life!_

Dean tightened his grip on the steering wheel, knuckles white and ugly. Benny… when he’d said that, on the day Dean had mistakenly admitted his feelings, he’d left a mark. It was a hideous scar, still tender, still sore and easy to enflame. Dean hated it. He hated the way one person had managed to tear him down and break him apart. He was stronger than that- wasn’t he?

He scoffed. He knew that his father, wherever he may be, would be disappointed in him. He would throw his hands up in the air and point an accusing finger in his direction, lips twisted in an angry snarl. There’d be a beer bottle or flask clasped in his other hand, between shaky fingers, and his eyes would look red in the low lighting of their old, ramshackle house. His father was a violent and unpredictable force, visiting once a month (if that) only to leave moments after he’d arrived. It was as if he were allergic to the concept of fatherhood.

Dean remembered the last time he’d seen his father. It was the same month he and Benny’s friendship had abruptly and tragically come to an end. His arrival had come unexpectedly. Dean remembered it as if it were yesterday.

Dean walked through the door of his Uncle Bobby’s house, threw his backpack down into the nearest chair, and froze.

Sometimes he wondered if his father had been born with an alcoholic beverage in hand. The monster- he was, he really was a disgusting human being- stood in the center of the kitchen. They’d moved into that house on the day of Sam’s third birthday, after their mother had passed away. It wasn’t luxurious by any means, but it was certainly better than their father’s house.

“Son.”

He hated the sound of his father’s drunken voice, cold and heartless. Even back then, Dean had considered himself to be a resilient person. He could stand up for himself when he needed to. But, when it came to his father, it was a completely different story. Two words and he was a toddler once again, tugging at his father’s jacket sleeve as he desperately tried to get his attention, knowing full well that he would never be worthy of his attention.

“I’m not coming to work at the shop.” Dean mustered up every ounce of courage he had left. He was sick of long conversations that went absolutely nowhere. He wanted nothing more than to get this over and done with.

And his father had played out his role just as Dean had imagined he would. He sneered and took a step closer. “You’re gonna… college, huh?”

“I’m going to study law. I want- I want to be a lawyer.” Dean felt his throat tighten, choking out the words. “I was on the fence about it, but now… now I know. That’s what I want to do. No, it’s what I’m _going_ to do.”

“What changed your mind?” He brought the flask to his lips and drank, guzzling as if he were drinking from a water bottle instead.

“Benny”-Dean’s hands clenched into fists at his side at the mere mention of the name- “and I had always planned on studying together. Going to the same college, starting our own firm- I’m pretty sure I told you about that.”

His father, even in his usual drunken stupor, didn’t miss the way his hands clenched. “Something happen with you and Benny? Is that what did it? Made you think… that you wanted to be a lawyer?”

Dean could’ve easily lied to him. His father knew little about him, considering just how infrequent his visits were. He never called the house to check up on him and Sam. His sudden arrivals were the only times they ever interacted. But Dean had had enough with the bastard. And he knew one thing that would surely send him running.

“Benny and I aren’t friends anymore.”

“And why not?”

“Because I finally told him. I told him the truth.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean? Stop changing the subject like that. Spit it out already, goddammit.”

“I told him that I loved him.”

Silence. It felt like the walls were slowly inching their way closer, the floor caving in, as if the room may swallow Dean whole. His father simply stared at him. He stared and stared and _stared_ with that stupid disapproving expression on his face.

“Is this some kind of joke?”

“No,” Dean growled, the anger boiling up inside of him, “I’m completely serious. I am- or was, I guess- in love with him. Dad, I’m bisexual.”

“What the fuck, kid, you’re only seventeen years old!  You don’t know what that even means!” Dean recognized that tone. His father was furious. He had that murderous look in his eye, the kind that meant he wanted nothing more than to hit him but wouldn’t because he could never actually bring himself to do it.

“Oh no, I know exactly what it means.” Dean considered maintaining his polite demeanor but decided it was the last thing his father deserved. “I swing both ways, bat for both teams, play the field. I love tits, but I also love sucking co-“

“Shut your goddamned mouth!”

Although his father had always scared him, in that moment, Dean was more afraid than he’d ever been before. The pungent odor of alcohol and something reminiscent of pizza sauce was suddenly right there, along with his father’s finger jabbing his nose as he invaded his personal space, close enough that Dean could feel the spittle from his father’s lips hit his skin.

“I’m sick of all of this bullshit! You… fuck. I can’t do this. I… I have to get outta here.”

Dean couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. He just stood there, watching in sick fascination as his father shouldered his way past him. Without another word, he threw open the door and, mumbling curses under his breath, walked right out of Dean’s life.

The memory had come out of nowhere. Dean swallowed and shook his head. His father had never said it, but Dean knew that he must’ve been thinking it. His son was a disappointment- a disgrace. He was a worthless piece of shit unworthy of his father’s love.

 _How does that work, though_ , Dean thought bitterly, _when you’re both the same_?

 

* * *

 

Cooking was, for lack of a better term, Sam’s guilty pleasure.

When something was bothering him, he threw on an apron and practically ran to the kitchen. It didn’t really matter what he decided to prepare. Whether it was an Italian feast or a simple loaf of bread, Sam couldn’t get enough of the heady feeling that came over him as the delicious aromas of sizzling bacon or baking bread filled the room.

But there were the rare occasions in which not even standing in front of the oven, watching a stir fry come to life right before his eyes, helped. This day just so happened to be one of them.

Maybe it was because no one else was sitting with him, quietly enjoying the meal he’d spent the last hour or so preparing. It didn’t happen often. Somehow, Sam and Dean had always managed to eat together. No matter what they did following work, they ended up at this same table, at the same time, each night.

Sam probably should’ve been concerned about Dean’s whereabouts, but he couldn’t bring himself to be _that_ worried. He was a grown man; he could take care of himself. Of course, Dean wasn’t completely capable of watching out for his own well-being. He chose a select few people, an elite group of individuals he felt he could trust, and _gave_. He gave and gave until there was nothing left, never asking for anything in return.

Sam sighed, the normally quiet sound coming out far louder in the silence. What would Dean do if Sam weren’t there to keep him out of trouble? What would he be like? A scarily precise image of Dean dressed as their father, stumbling around in a drunken stupor, flashed before Sam’s eyes.

No. He would never let Dean become _that_.

“Hey.”

Sam jumped and turned his wide eyes to the entranceway. He frowned. Dean had his body propped against the wall, swaying on his feet. His eyelashes fluttered furiously as if were struggling to keep them open and his mouth hung partly open, a little drool visible on his chin. He looked like hell.

“How much did you have?”

Dean rolled his eyes and stepped away from the wall. He nearly fell over but quickly righted himself, throwing his body down into the nearest chair. Confused, he glanced down at the empty spot on the table in front of him, over at Sam’s plate, and then back to his spot. He tilted his head.

“Where’s m’ plate?” He slurred unpleasantly. Sam hated the sound of Dean’s voice when he got like this. His words were incredibly difficult to decipher, as if he were trying to speak with a mouth full of peanut butter.

“I asked you first.”

“What does ‘eh matter?”

“Stop,” Sam growled. The fork slipped out of his fingers, striking the plate with an ear-jarring _clang._ “Don’t try to change the subject. I’m worried about you.”

“Well, you shouldn’ worry abou’ me. I ca’ take care of myself,” Dean mumbled in response. The “f” at the end of “myself” came out sounding like Donald Duck, but Sam disregarded the brief speech impediment. He needed to be serious if he wanted to get his point across to his thick-skulled brother.

“You’re my brother, dammit, I’m allowed to be concerned about you! Especially after everything that’s happened with Cas and… and with Benny.”

Dean wasn’t drunk enough to hide his reaction to the name. He sneered, an expression that certainly didn’t belong on his generally kind face. It made him look far nastier than Sam knew him to be.

“You should really have a talk with Cas. He’s worried about you, too. He thinks… well, he’s in a pretty rough place right now-“

“No, Sammy, _I’m_ in a rough place righ’ now!” Dean cried, slamming his fists down on the table. Sam felt nauseous.  Dean looked like their father in that moment, leveling Sam with the same murderous glare he had seen several times before as a child. “Cas has ‘eh so much better tha’ me! Don’t you get ‘eh?”

No, to be perfectly honest, Sam didn’t get it. He and Gabe had an… interesting relationship and a checkered history, that was for sure. But it was different. They’d grown to be something unidentifiable. They had gone from being friends to lovers to enemies to, quite possibly, friends once again. Even that term didn’t seem to suit their relationship, though. But, when it came to Dean and Cas, the friends phase had only lasted for a week or so before they’d become lovers. The dynamics, the chemistry- all of it was different.

“Dean, you’re going to have to talk to him eventually. I know you don’t see it, but he’s just as confused as you are right now. The poor guy deserves some kind of closure.”

“Wha’“- Dean brought his hand up to his mouth and belched, muttering a quick apology under his breath- “Wha’ am I suppose’ to tell ‘im?”

“I don’t know, whatever you need to tell him. Whatever feels right.”

“Tha’s some shitty advice, Sammy, even fo’ you.”

“Shut up,” Sam muttered. He stood, plate in hand, and turned toward the kitchen. “I’m serious. I know that Gabe and I’s situation isn’t the same, but look what happened when we talked it out. We sat down like mature adults and sorted everything out.”

Dean sat quietly, watching as Sam made his way into the kitchen. His green eyes looked different glazed over- sadder, heavier, and yet, at the same time, softer.

“Now, we’re getting better. I mean, sure, it isn’t perfect. I doubt it will ever be back to the way things used to be, but still. We’re happier this way. We… we know where we stand with each other.” Sam smiled down at the pile of fried vegetables and chunks of chicken he’d scooped onto Dean’s plate. It was the first time he’d admitted how proud he was of he and Gabe’s compromise. It felt nice to finally say it out loud.

He set the plate in the previously empty spot in front of Dean, receiving a mumbled “thank you” in return. He murmured a quick “you’re welcome” back and slumped into his chair once again. As he moved, Sam glimpsed Dean’s pleased expression, watching as he leaned closer into the steam rising from the food, closed his eyes, and inhaled the scent. In all of the years Sam had cooked for the two of them, Dean had never once made a crude remark about his meals.

Dean reopened his eyes and eagerly speared a few red peppers on his fork. His enthusiasm for eating had also remained unchanged, a constant reminder that no matter what happened to Dean, he would always be, at his core, _Dean_.

“Tryin’ to distrac’ me with foo’,” Dean grumbled, his speech even harder to decipher with chewed pieces of chicken and onions in his mouth. Sam tried to keep the smile off of his face, but, admittedly, he didn’t try all that hard.

“Yeah, yeah, just enjoy it and be happy I’m such a great brother.”

Dean swallowed and hummed his approval. Instead of meeting Sam’s gaze, he stared down at the fork in his grasp. He twirled it aimlessly between his fingers, a habit he’d likely picked up in high school. Sam had lived with Dean for many years and recognized the gesture immediately. He was deep in thought, probably mulling over everything Sam had told him.

“Sammy…” Dean glanced over at Sam for a brief second and back to the fork. “Do you really… do you think I deserve Cas?”

Sam blinked. Out of all of the things he’d expected Dean to say, that wasn’t one of them. “What?”

“I mean, wha’ if he’s better withou’ me? He’s such a goo’ guy…” He finally set the fork down, unfazed by the way it landed right in the middle of the plate, covered in the stir fry’s sticky sauce. He normally would’ve cussed loudly and stomped to the kitchen to get a new fork. It was unlike him to just let his silverware land in his food like that. Immediately, Sam knew two things.

1\. Dean was completely and utterly _wasted_.

2\. He meant business.

“Will he even ta’ me back?”

A small gasp slipped past Sam’s lips. He thought back to the conversations he and Gabe had shared in the past few weeks and the way they’d awkwardly danced around each other until the whole thing blew up in their faces. They’d had to face it eventually.

And, no, it hadn’t been easy. Frankly, it had been terrifying. He’d taken a huge leap of faith, opening up to Gabe the way he had. By making the kind of confessions and promises he’d made, his barriers had come down, and he’d become vulnerable, liable to be destroyed at any moment, to be shot down or told to leave.

In the end, though, despite all of the consequences, it had been the right decision. It had taken some convincing, but Sam now knew it was the best choice he could’ve made.

“Well, I’m not going to sugar coat it for you. You wouldn’t like it if I did, right?”

Dean didn’t respond, but his silence said everything he couldn’t.

“Alright, good.” Sam propped his elbows up on the table. “Well, Dean, let me tell you something. I don’t know a lot about relationships. You and I both know I haven’t been with many people. I always seem to fuck things up.”

Sam stopped, not surprised at all by the little chuckle from the other end of the table. He smirked and joined in, offering up a brief huff of laughter before continuing.

“So yeah, when I laid everything out on the line with Gabe… I was taking a huge risk. But, the thing is, the good outweighed the bad. When I sat and thought about it- _really_ thought about it- I realized that I couldn’t stand the idea of losing Gabe if there were some way I could keep him around. Sure, maybe I would tell him everything, and he’d only want to be friends. As a matter of fact, that’s exactly what happened this time around.”

Dean’s eyes widened. Sam had forgotten that Dean knew nothing about he and Gabe’s agreement. He’d have to explain everything to him later, though, because there were more pressing matters to be taken care of at that moment.

“And… and now we’re on the same page. We agreed to be honest with each other. There’s no guessing work, no more wondering whether one of us is trying to get in the other’s pants, no more pointless lies. We trust each other.”

“So… wha’s your poin’?” Dean finally asked. He didn’t look murderous like he had before. Sam was pleasantly surprised to find that he looked open, as if he may actually listen and take his advice to heart.

“Okay, yeah, sorry. I think that you and Cas need to agree to be honest with one another. That way, when something like this happens, you don’t have to worry about… well, you know, not knowing whether you can believe each other.”

Sam waited patiently for a reaction to his explanation, any reaction whatsoever, but Dean kept his expression blank. He had become pretty good at that, actually.

“What do you ca’ this stuff anyway?” Dean slurred, a tiny grin on his face. And that was enough. It was an agreement. Dean would do as Sam said and take the ultimate leap of faith.

 

* * *

 

If there was one thing Jo hated nearly as much as pointless classes, it was running.

She was fairly athletic and had always maintained her physique. Of course, she wasn’t one of those girls who kept up appearances to please the guys hoping to ogle her. She just wanted to be healthy, and the easiest way to do that was to exercise. Well, and watch what she ate, but she figured that the more she exercised, the more she could eat.

But there were moments like this that she simply _had_ to run. It was the fastest way to get from point A to point B- basic math. As she ran, ignoring all of the curious looks that people shot her way as she passed, only one thought was on her mind: She had to find Cas.

After what she’d witnessed in class, she hadn’t dwelled on her decision for long- she’d just _moved._ Cas needed to know. Everything was pure speculation at this point, but, no matter what, what she’d seen couldn’t possibly be a good omen.

Thankfully, she found him where she’d hoped to. There was a tree, a weeping willow, in the quad that had become his spot. He’d usually come there between classes and sit. Sometimes he would read, sometimes he would study, and sometimes he would, quite literally, just sit there. To an outside observer that didn’t know Cas, it probably looked odd, a boy leaning up against a tree, staring off into space for almost an hour at a time.

The second Jo spotted him, she picked up her pace a little. To be honest, when she set her mind to it, she could really cover some ground. Right before she threw herself down on the grass beside him, Castiel looked up with wide eyes. “Jo?”

“Cas, buddy, we need to have a little chat,” Jo insisted. She shifted closer, placing her body within enough range to make him uncomfortable. He had a fairly large personal space, and, once someone invaded it, he became flustered and would say whatever it took to get that person to move back.

“About what?”

Jo’s brow furrowed. His voice was flat- eerily flat. The tone made her extremely uncomfortable. He sounded like a goddamn robot.  

“Wow, okay, you’re in rare form today,” Jo scoffed. She leaned away, quickly giving Castiel a once-over. He seemed fine. There weren’t any stains on his navy sweater vest or khaki pants. His shoes weren’t mismatched; his hair looked as mussed as it usually did. But that voice set off warning bells in Jo’s head.

“No, I just, um,” Cas mumbled, still speaking without any sort of inflection, “I’m just a little tired, that’s all. One of the guys in my hall was- I don’t know, it sounded like his girlfriend was over, and I’m pretty sure I wasn’t the only one that didn’t get any sleep, if you catch my drift.”

Jo clamped her hand over her mouth, struggling to muffle her laughter. Even after losing his virginity, the adorable little shit couldn’t mention “sex” without blushing like a school girl.

“I getcha,” Jo admitted. She bent her knees, resting her chin casually between them. Without raising her head, she glanced over at Cas. She believed the whole “these two bastards banging each other’s brains out kept me up all night” story. Hell, she’d been there. Most college kids probably had. There was more to it than that, though. The expression on his face, far too cold and lifeless to belong to Castiel, hinted at a more substantial issue. Something heavier, something more personal, was on his mind.

“Anyway, the thing I needed to tell you,” she continued, deciding that it was better to save the discussion for another time, “Benny’s cronies were scheming in Mills’ class today.”

Jo expected Cas to be startled by the new revelation. Instead, he continued to stare off into the distance. He didn’t gasp or reach down to grab Jo’s hand for some sort of reassurance. He didn’t playfully nudge her with his elbow to show he wasn’t buying it. Cas sat there without moving a single muscle.

“And?”

She could’ve slapped him for that. What the hell was his deal?

“And? _And_? Cas, those guys are bad news. After what happened with Benny, aren’t you even a little concerned?” Jo didn’t mean to raise her voice, but, damn, Castiel could be thick sometimes.

“I don’t see what the big deal is,” Cas explained, shrugging his shoulders. He glanced over at Jo, blue eyes cold and lifeless. She had peered into those eyes before and felt like she was drowning, drawn in by the warmth and compassion they exuded. His gaze seemed to have that effect on people. But the familiar sensation didn’t come over her when their eyes met this time. Rather, she felt like she was staring into a black, bottomless pit.

“You have class with a few of them tomorrow, right? What if…”

No, she couldn’t get choked up about this. The sons of bitches wouldn’t _dare_ lay a hand on Castiel. They had to know that she’d kick their asses if they even thought about it. He was going to be okay, no matter what they had planned. Because they may say something to him, something cruel, but they would never actually hurt him.

 _Right_?

“Cas, what if they hurt you?” The words left a disgusting aftertaste in Jo’s mouth. She hated the sound of them strung together in a sentence like that.

“They won’t.”

“Dammit, you don’t _know_ that-“

“I do,” Cas snapped. He turned to face her fully, and Jo immediately wished he hadn’t. This wasn’t the Castiel she knew- the one she would gladly take a bullet for if it came down to it. The person beside her was nothing more than an empty shell, simply going through the motions to appease everyone else around him.

“They wouldn’t do that. And even if they did, I could care less. Maybe I deserve it.”

And with that surprisingly thoughtless remark, he stood, shrugged on his backpack, and walked away. The wind swept through the quad, ruffling his hair and tugging at the soft fabric of his sweater vest. He moved quickly and with ease. She had to admit, he did a decent job of hiding the way he really felt.

Jo wasn’t delusional. She knew that something fishy was going on. And, normally, Cas would experience the same unsettling feeling she currently grappled with. He couldn’t possibly be _that_ oblivious. Of course, the son of a bitch could be pretty stubborn when he wanted to. _Hm_ , she thought, slowly climbing to her feet, _maybe that’s it. He’s just being a stubborn little prick_.

The confused stares of the nearby students were still focused on Jo and the spot Castiel had once occupied. She felt the same way as they did; his behavior had also surprised her and, on top of that, made her incredibly frustrated. Castiel didn’t turn back to meet Jo’s frightened gaze. He didn’t turn back and reassure her that he hadn’t meant to sound so harsh. He simply kept going.

Jo wanted to call out to him. She wasn’t one to beg, but she was tempted. She’d never seen Castiel act that way. Dean’s absence had really gotten to him.

This couldn’t possibly end well.


	22. Ignorance Isn't Bliss After All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one when, to put things quite bluntly, shit finally hits the fan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... there's a 99% chance that all of you will hate my guts after this chapter. I don't know what else to say other than... sorry? That being said, there are several warnings for this chapter: **derogatory remarks about homosexuality, violence/fighting, explicit language** , and **brief mentions of alcoholism**. If you notice any others, don't hesitate to tell me so that I can include it here and prevent any unnecessary triggering. 
> 
> On a lighter note, I thought I'd ask that everyone tag their tumblr posts as "fic: ihtu" so that I can keep track of feedback and such. It'd be pretty cool to have a tumblr tag for this... I don't know, only if you guys want to!
> 
> Um, I think that's it. I'll have some more notes at the end to reassure anyone that may be freaking out considering the way I'm ending this chapter. Thank you all and _please_ don't hesitate to come over to [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com) to talk and ask questions! Or even [twitter](http://twitter.com/nezumistiel)!

How was it that, no matter what happened, a steaming cup of coffee always managed to make Castiel feel better?

He held the Styrofoam cup close, peering down at the smooth surface of its lid, trailing his pointer finger aimlessly around the rim. The cardboard ring felt warm in his grasp, the comforting kind of warm that travelled up the length of his arm, down his chest, and stopped at the tips of his toes. There was nothing quite like it.

Ever since he’d been a part of the educational system, stretching back all the way to his embarrassing grade school days, Castiel had dreaded the very notion of being late. It was the sign of someone who lacked willpower and didn’t know how to budget their time properly. As a hopeful honor student- according to his parents and teachers, at least- he made sure to keep a careful schedule, ensuring that he would never be late to a single class. There were a few days he’d missed, thanks to a brief grapple with chicken pox in third grade and a run-in with the flu in seventh grade, but, other than that, he’d been present at school each day, sliding into his first period class every morning without fail.

And today wouldn’t be any different. Ms. Masters would flash him a sweet smile and beckon him over to her desk where they’d discuss the latest technological innovations, passing the time before the other students arrived. Cas enjoyed their little talks. He had come to look forward to them, as a matter of fact. They were casual, and he never experienced any tension during their conversations. He loved his friends, both those at school and Gabe, but they sometimes made him nervous. It wasn’t like he didn’t trust them; it was that he didn’t want to make a fool of himself in front of them. Their opinions meant a great deal to him.

Castiel glanced up at the sky. The wispy clouds filled the brilliant blue space, drifting gently along with the wind. One in particular resembled a flower, maybe a lily, while another reminded Castiel of a dolphin. As he watched, a robin flew overhead, wings fluttering as it fought against the wind. He smiled and turned his attention back to his destination off in the distance. The building housed part of the mathematics department, including Ms. Masters’ Calculus 3 class.

The corners of Castiel’s lips lifted ever so slightly in the beginnings of a smile. It had been days since he’d smiled like this, genuine and carefree. Since his talk with Jo, his anxiety had only grown worse. Although he wouldn’t admit it, her story had frightened him. He walked from class to class feeling constantly on edge, poised to fight at any moment, as if an attacker waited patiently in the cover of every shadow he passed. But, at the same time, he felt that not even the boys Jo had named were stupid enough to try and confront him in broad daylight. Not only was it social suicide, but a fight would surely interfere with their football scholarships.

Feeling a little more self-assured than he had earlier that morning, Castiel drew his shoulders back and titled his chin up. The posture felt forced, but he had carefully observed Dean over the past few months and, using his boyfriend’s- possibly ex-boyfriend’s- body language, devised the perfect strategy for exuding confidence.

He, Castiel Novak, was a strong, self-confident man who deserved respect. He would walk through campus with his head held high, and no one would try to stop him. The next person to pick on him would surely be sor-

Cas froze. The group of boys, the ones Jo had spoken of the previous day, were watching him cross the quad. The look they collectively shot him was not the kind a person would want directed their way. Each one narrowed their eyes, a devilish grin on their face, fists clenched at their sides. Why the hell were they looking at him like that?

Nervous, he quickly scanned the area. There were a few people meandering about, cutting through the quad on their way to class. Unfortunately, none of them looked familiar, and the only students he saw didn’t seem like the type to break up a fight.

Would they… do that here? It was early and not many people were out and about quite yet. Most students refrained from enrolling in classes around this time. They preferred to take afternoon courses. Castiel had specifically chosen morning time slots to avoid sleeping in or lounging around his dorm. He didn’t want to turn into a lazy couch potato. But few people shared the same sentiment. Regardless of the fact there were few people around, a fight was a fight and starting one would surely make a scene.

“Hey there,” the tallest of the boys called over. His canines were unnaturally sharp, glinting ominously in the light. _He looks like a wolf_ , Castiel noted, taking a hesitant step back. If he remembered correctly, the boy who was addressing him was named Gordon.

“You heading to class, big guy?” another boy jeered, a similarly sinister smirk on his lips. Zach? Yes, that was him. Like with the rest of the group, Castiel didn’t know much about the guy. He never had class with any of them. They spent most of their time at parties or on the field, two places Cas definitely didn’t frequent.

“I-I…” Castiel stuttered. His plan to appear confident didn’t seem to be working. His racing pulse made it difficult to concentrate, clouding his thoughts with the thick, incessant _badump-badump_ of his heartbeat. He couldn’t keep his hands from shaking, and, when he reached up to wipe his brow, he realized that sweat was dripping down his face.

Maintaining their manic expressions and intimidating postures, the group of boys slowly began to circle Castiel, as if they were sharks surrounding a defenseless fish. He wanted to be brave, but, fuck, was he scared. Although he was, by no means, short, the others towered over him. They were bulkier and far more menacing, especially when they teamed up like this.

Castiel swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Maybe they really were sharks. If someone offered him up as a midday snack, they certainly looked like they would accept.

“Aw, you look scared,” Gordon purred, cocking his head.

“He should be,” Zach chortled, “he’s not stupid. He knows _exactly_ what this is about. Don’t you?”

 _Fuck off_. That’s what he should’ve said. He couldn’t bring himself to say the words, though, and settled for a pathetic squeak instead.

“Of course he does! The guy’s a real pain in the ass. He messed with our boy’s head, and that’s not cool.”

“Not at all. He needs to be taught a lesson. We don’t want anyone to think they can fuck with us. That would be bad,” Zach agreed. Castiel hated the sound of his voice, the way it cracked on the word “fuck.” They thought they were better than him- they thought they could do whatever the hell they wanted. It was like they’d convinced themselves that they were campus royalty or something.

But maybe that was the case after all- maybe they were right. He wasn’t trying to fight back or anything, now, was he?

“Boys, boys, boys. I can stand up for myself, you know.”

 _No_. Castiel needed to run, to get the fuck out of the quad as quickly as he could. He would recognize that smooth voice, that slight southern twang and familiar drawl, anywhere. That same voice had been a frequent visitor in his recent nightmares, disgusting and deceptively charming, a hideous reminder of Cas’s faults.

Making his way through the gap between Zach and Gordon, Benny stepped into the circle. _Has he always been this ugly?_ Castiel wondered. He’d considered him at least a little attractive the first time they’d met, when he’d been dragged back to his dorm that terrible night. Something about his hair and those brilliant blue eyes had drawn him in, promising gentle touches and comforting embraces. Now, he felt like vomiting when their gazes locked.

“Castiel,” he purred with a positively wicked glint in his eyes, “long time no see. It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

“I can’t say that I feel the same,” Cas managed to growl. He crossed his arms over his chest with the hope of hiding his quivering fingers. “How did I get so lucky?”

Benny laughed, clutching his stomach. He bent over at the waist and laughed and laughed and _laughed_. Cas wanted to punch that smug smile right off his face, to shut him up once and for all.

“Ah, I never knew you had such a _phenomenal_ sense of humor, Cas.” He straightened back up again, wiping away a few stray tears with the back of his hand.

“And I never knew that you had any idea what ‘phenomenal’ meant,” Castiel quipped. They were big words for a boy that felt like he was going to explode at any second, that desperately felt like running for cover. He wanted to bury his face in someone’s chest and have them wrap their arms securely around his quivering body, assuring him over and over again that everything would be alright, even though it most certainly wouldn’t be.

 _Dean_. Where was he? Back at his house, probably, or maybe in his office, pouring over stacks of paperwork with that endearing expression of concentration plastered to his adorable face. Cas had loved watching him work. He’d only witnessed it once or twice, though, because Dean preferred to be alone whenever paperwork was involved. From what Castiel could remember, his tongue would poke out from between his lips, his fingers would clasp tightly around his pen, and his nose would twitch every now and again.

If he were there, would things have been different? Hell, maybe the jackasses wouldn’t have even considered approaching Cas. Dean could be awfully scary when he wanted to be.

“Oh, you’re so charming,” Benny scoffed, putting his hands on his waist. He cocked one hip and took another step closer, never once taking his eyes off his prey. Cas despised the intensity in his gaze. He felt as if he were a bug being watched through a magnifying glass, burning alive as the Sun’s heat filtered through the lens and singed his skin. This was it; he was done.

“I have good news. I decided to tell some of my friends about your… arrangement with Dean.”

Castiel’s eyes bugged out of his skull, wide and terrified. _He_ was supposed to be the one that spread the word about what he and Dean had become. Although Dean had claimed he was comfortable with their relationship, Cas knew that, deep down, he was scared. He had every right to be. Society more readily accepted homosexuality today, but there were still those who couldn’t accept the idea of two people of the same gender falling in love. While some would fawn over and congratulate them, others wouldn’t hesitate to shun them. And, to make matters worse, many of the stubborn ones felt the need to beat their victims into submission.

Benny fit into that category of stubborn jackasses quite nicely. Except that, when it boiled down to it, he wasn’t completely straight himself. He’d tried to get into Castiel’s pants, after all.

“What did you do?” Cas croaked. He turned to see how close the other members of the circle were, and, to his horror, they’d steadily been creeping closer. They looked just as nasty and spiteful as their close-minded master. As a matter of fact, they were worse than Benny. Every last of one of them was only there because they were following orders.

“Interesting question. I told ‘em that you were a fucking faggot,” Benny hissed, “that you would rather take a dick up your ass than date some sweet girl. What a shame, huh?”

“Wh-What the hell are you talking about? You don’t know _shit_! You… you bigot!” Castiel could no longer feel his legs. Tears threatened to fall, and his throat felt uncomfortably dry. This monster, this disgusting human being, had to be stopped. Why wasn’t anyone coming to help him? A flock of mindless sheep, that’s what they were, watching quietly from the sidelines as someone was verbally and, most likely, physically assaulted right before their very eyes.

“Hm, me? A bigot? Now where would you ever get that idea?”

“I know what you are. You’re the kind of person that sleeps with guys all the time.” Benny’s lips twitched. His eyes narrowed, fists clenching and unclenching at this sides. “But you don’t tell anyone. It’s your dirty little secret. Because you can’t accept the fact that you’re just a little ga-“

_Hck!_

Fingers, those were fingers wrapped around his neck, squeezing the air from his lungs. The ground was suddenly right beneath him, blades of grass tickling his skin. His legs no longer had to worry about holding his body up, and, panicked, his arms shot out to the side, flailing and grasping wildly for something to hold onto.

“You piece of shit!” Gordon’s snarling face loomed in front of him. He couldn’t see anything past his hideous visage, but the unmistakable sound of laughter could be heard in the background. “How dare you say that to Benny!”

“I-I-“ Castiel couldn’t breathe. A haze crept its way across the fringes of his vision, effectively pushing Benny and the rest of his cronies out of Cas’s line of sight. Blood, rushing through his veins, rushing up his neck and to his reddening face. He would die- this is how he would die, crushed under the boot of an absolute barbarian, a homophobe and a fool.

“You got a smart mouth, boy,” Gordon growled. He removed one of his hands from around Castiel’s throat, offering him a brief window of time to draw in a shaky breath. It didn’t help much, though. The fingers of the other hand, the one still firmly in place, increased their pressure to make up for the loss. He squeezed, and Castiel coughed, garbled nonsense spewing from his lips.

Who was he calling for? Who would save him now? Dean didn’t care; he couldn’t. And Gabe? Even if he could make it there on time, he certainly wouldn’t stand a chance against any of these bastards. Jo and Charlie- where were they? If he cried loud enough, maybe they would hear.

“See, right there. Trying to call for help.” Gordon squeezed tighter, silencing any of Castiel’s pathetic attempts at speech. “That mouth of yours is going to get you into big trouble one day. And I think it’s about time someone taught you that.”

A threat- he was threatening him. Castiel’s throat was on fire, his eyes burned, his limbs felt heavy and useless. When he tried to lift an arm, it didn’t even budge. It was like his body no longer belonged to him. Some mysterious guest now controlled his every movement, and the son of a bitch wanted Cas to suffer.

_Smack!_

He gasped. The unmistakable sensation of pain rippled through his immobile body, a horrible, searing pain that centered on his now slack jaw. _He punched me_ , Castiel mused.

_Smack!_

Again- he’d hit him again. Cas couldn’t see it, but he could picture it in his head: Gordon sneering, pulling his fist back and gazing in wonder at the blood on his knuckles. He’d probably like that. No, he’d _love_ the way he’d made Castiel bleed. That’s how sick bastards like him worked. That’s what they got off on. Just like Benny.

_Smack! Smack!_

The dots clouding his vision were gone. Everywhere he looked, there was only darkness, a thick blanket of black that left him blind and, if at all possible, even more vulnerable than before.

“Goddammit, Gordon, we talked about this!” It sounded like Benny. Jo had been right. Sometime in the past week, they’d all gotten together and planned this. Cas wondered how long it’d taken them to decide on how they would handle the little runt who’d messed with their fearless leader.

“Yeah, but you heard what he almost said!”

“I don’t give a shit! He’s _mine_.”

Castiel shivered. He hated the way Benny said that, as if he were his property. Never, not in a million years, would he stoop so low as to belong to that twisted monster. The weight suddenly lifted off of his chest. Cas would’ve rejoiced and tried to sit up, but, as quick as the pressure was removed, an even greater pressure took its place.

“Oh, Cas,” Benny purred, “If only you’d stayed away. Dean’s bad news. He destroys everyone that gets close to him because he can’t keep it in his goddamn pants.”

Castiel inhaled, ready to let out a cry of help now that Gordon’s fingers were gone. But, even so, he kept sinking in and out of consciousness, unable to control any of his bodily functions. He felt numb, cold and lifeless like a corpse. If it weren’t for the salty taste of tears and blood on his lips, he’d think he was already dead.

“It’s okay, though. I’m here now,” Benny cooed, a mocking lilt to his voice, “I’ll teach you. I’ll teach you to stop being a fucking monster.”

A monster- is that what he was? Did loving Dean make him a _monster_? That couldn’t be right. The way Dean whispered his name against the soft shell of his ear, fingertips trailing up and down his chest, cradling him close beneath the covers. The way his wide emerald eyes stared directly into Castiel’s, and, every time they did, Cas thought he saw Dean’s lip twitch, as if there were something he wanted to say, something right there on the tip of his tongue. His face and body, along with the soul that lied within, were without a doubt, beautiful. Not disgusting or monstrous- _beautiful_.

Even as the ache spread throughout Castiel’s weak body, the corners of his lips turned up into a small smile. What a fantastic image to have seared into his memory, the last thing he saw as he slowly faded away. Dean would always be with him. Maybe not the way Cas wanted him to, but his little smirk and freckled cheeks would forever be there, safely filed away in Castiel’s head for future reference. He would make sure of it.

 _Welcome it, Castiel_ , his subconscious soothed, _it’s much easier here. That awful pain will go away, both the mental and the physical. No more tears, no more sleepless nights. Dean would want you to be happy._

The darkness thickened, wrapping its tendrils more securely around Cas’s fragile mind. It pulled and pulled, tugging him along, urging him forward. How easy it was, sinking into the void. He would be happy… Dean would be happy… _happy_ …

“You jackass!”

Was that… no, it couldn’t be.

“Who the hell are you?” Benny sounded as if he were speaking with a mouth full of cotton balls. His voice echoed, a distant and hollow sound bouncing around in Castiel’s head.

“Your worst nightmare,” the newcomer growled. It had to be Jo. No one, besides maybe Charlie, would use that kind of cliché phrase. The threat came out kind of cool, though, considering the way it sounded like she was standing at the end of a long tunnel.

 “Jo?”

“Aw, dude, it’s Jo!”

“She’s such a badass.”

Those voices certainly didn’t belong to Benny. His friends- they seemed to like Jo. _Help me_ , Castiel silently begged. That was the extent of his vocabulary at the moment. Anything more complicated wouldn’t surface, words slipping away before he could piece them together. However, even if his brain could form legitimate sentences, he had yet to regain the ability to speak.

“Get the hell off of him,” Jo threatened. She only used that tone when she meant serious business, and Castiel knew with certainty that Benny was in it for it.

“I…” That couldn’t possibly be the same all-powerful Benny from before. His confidence had diminished considerably. Castiel wished he could laugh. The stupid jackass no longer had control of the situation; things were getting out of hand. Jo’s popularity had dealt a fatal blow to his strategy. “And why would I ever do that?”

“Because I’m sure you’ve heard of me. Your buddies have. I don’t mess around.”

“So?” The bastard was nothing more than a petulant child, the kind that whined until he got his way. In that moment, he had returned back to the timid grade school boy with only one sole companion by his side, a quivering mess that always needed saving. Nothing more than a spoiled child.

“Benny… maybe you should listen to the girl. I’ve heard stories about her. She kicks some serious ass. Plus, she gave me some dirty looks in Lit the other day,” someone insisted. It might’ve been Gordon. But it might’ve been Zach, too. Castiel had lost the ability to differentiate between voices.

“Pfft. There’s no way that chick can take me!”

Benny… yes, Benny was talking. Why was he whispering? No one was addressing it, though. That’s weird, someone should tell him to speak up. They really should…

“Oh yeah?”

Jo sounded mad. Maybe she’d hit Benny. That would be cool. He wished he could see it. His face would look even funnier all bashed in and bruised. Funny… funny…

The smack of skin on skin was the last thing Castiel heard before finally slipping out of consciousness, gliding the final few feet down the steep slope right into the depthless black pit that eagerly waited to swallow him whole.

 

* * *

 

“Ninety-nine bottles of beer on the wall, ninety-nine bottles of beer,” Dean mumbled, flicking a beer can and watching it tip over.

A few droplets spilled onto the table, but Dean had drunk most of the beer anyway so very little was left. It would probably stain the table top. The pungent-smelling liquid had completely surpassed the place mat, unfortunately. He would’ve walked out to the kitchen to grab a roll of paper towel, but it didn’t seem worth the effort.

 _Good job, Dean, you only had two cans_ , Dean thought bitterly. If only Sam were there to see his exercise in self-control. Knowing him, he’d probably pat Dean on the back and bristle with pride as if it were him that had cleared yet another hurdle on his way to overcoming alcoholism.

The temptation still had its claws in Dean, though. He’d bought a twelve-pack the other day. It would be fairly easy to walk out to the kitchen and snag at least one more drink. The pain would certainly subside if he had a little more. Or a lot more.

“Rage on mabushii hikari, Suru doku me wo somu keru isshun e…”

 _What the hell? Japanese?_ Dean dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone, staring confusedly at the screen. Jo’s smirking face peered back at him, offering him an enthusiastic thumbs up. She must’ve changed it during one of he and Castiel’s visits to her dorm. He didn’t know much about anime, but he thought he remembered hearing her go on and on about some popular series called _Free!_ The Japanase tune suddenly made more sense.

Sighing heavily, he dragged his thumb across the screen and held the phone up to his ear. “Nice ringtone,” he jeered.

“Ha, ha, you’re a comedic genius,” Jo retorted. But the snide remark came out sounding halfhearted, nothing at all like the way she’d usually say it. Dean’s grip tightened. Something wasn’t right.

“Listen, you need to come down to Sioux Falls Medical,” she finished weakly. Calm and level-headed Jo was not the one on the other end of the line. This was frightened Jo, an uncharacteristically terrified Jo- the kind that Dean had always hoped he’d never have to experience.

“Why?” Somehow, in the back of his mind, he already knew the answer.

“It’s… Dean, it’s Cas.”

_Castiel._

The phone slipped out of Dean’s hand, striking the hardwood floor with a soft _thud_.

“Dean? Dean, are you still there? The doctors think he’s going to be okay, but I thought you’d probably want to come see him. I know he wants to see you. The two of you have been idiots the past couple weeks. Heh. Dean? Goddammit- Dean?”

Little did Jo know, she was speaking to an empty room. Her listener had left the moment the phone hit the ground. He’d quickly tossed on his jacket and run out the door, a man on a mission, a man with only one thought on his mind.

Cas, Cas, _Cas_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NEVER FEAR, MY LOVES!!!** Remember, I have not checked the little box next to "major character death".... 
> 
> I'll have the next chapter up as soon as I can!


	23. Ew, Hospitals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The one when Jo and Charlie deal with Dean, Sam and Gabe are mature adults, and, well, Cas just wishes he could be awake for all of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to finish this chapter as quickly as I could! That cliffhanger was a little cruel... but, anyway, this chapter is a little happier. Things are beginning to look up for everyone! But poor little Cas- all he wants is to talk to Dean again, and, well, stop sleeping the days away so he can do just that. 
> 
> Oh, um, warnings? Not that I can think of. Other than Castiel slipping in and out of sleep and being a little hard on himself. I wouldn't really consider those to be warnings, but those are the only things I can think of that come remotely close. 
> 
> Other than that, look at the chapter count... *whispers* we're getting close to the end. I'm pretty excited about finishing this up, to be honest. It's been a fun ride! Remember to tag any tumblr posts with "fic: ihtu" and to come chat with me on [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com) and/or [twitter](http://twitter.com/nezumistiel) whenever you'd like!

“So, the doctors say he’s going to be alright?”

That voice… it sounded familiar and yet not familiar at all. Strange, the way things could become distorted like that, a tangled mess inside a person’s head. Castiel’s brain struggled to decipher each minute detail, each sensory input it normally would have no trouble placing. As he tried to make sense of the words he was hearing, grasping at each syllable, Cas decided that the person speaking was probably Charlie. Probably.

“Yep, he’ll be fine.” That was another voice, a different one. The placating tone reminded Cas of the one Jo frequently used whenever he overreacted about something, like a paper or school assignment he feared he wouldn’t finish in time or a test he worried he’d fail.

“Ugh, thank God,” Charlie sighed. The words felt heavy, like she hadn’t gotten enough sleep and was finding it difficult to form coherent sentences. Cas didn’t want that for Charlie- he didn’t want that for anyone. He would never be able to live with himself if he kept his friends from living long, healthy, and happy lives. Okay, fine, he was being a tad overdramatic. But that was understandable after what he’d been through- right?

Suddenly, a warm set of fingers wrapped around Castiel’s wrist. Another set of slimmer fingers brushed across the top of his hand, the touch light and hesitant. He recognized the grip on his wrist as Jo’s almost immediately. Of the two people in the room, Jo was the stronger of the two. She could squeeze a little harder and break his hand if she really wanted to.

The shaky fingers trailing up and down his forearm were unmistakably Charlie’s. Although she put up a brash and aloof front, Cas knew how compassionate she truly was. Not many people were permitted to see that side of her. She made sure to keep it a secret.

“When do you think he’ll wake up?”

“Nobody’s really sure. I mean, he could wake up right now, for all we know,” Jo mumbled. She squeezed Castiel’s wrist and drew her hand back. He missed the contact the second it was gone. The comforting warmth of her touch, the reassurance it provided, hadn’t seemed important until he no longer felt it against his clammy skin. His personal bubble had expanded, far larger than its usual size, and the fear of skin contact and intimacy flew right out the window.

 _I’m actually awake_ , he wanted to say. Or maybe, _Don’t leave me_. He wanted to say something, anything to keep them by his side. His mind felt fuzzy, though, as if he were underwater, struggling to see and unable to speak, all five sense dulled, leaving him to float aimlessly in a depthless void.

“Well, on the bright side, Dean is here. Can’t say that I expected him to show.”

 _Dean_. Oh God, Dean was there? Where was he? He was probably out in the waiting room, sitting cross-legged in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs, wearing one of his trademark suits. The briefcase would be there, too, tucked against his chest or leaning up against the metal leg of his seat. Knowing Dean, his legs would be bouncing and his fingers would be absentmindedly fiddling with a pen, twirling it around in little circles.

“I’m proud of the guy. Now he just needs to work up the nerve to come in here and see him,” Jo replied. Her words were harder to decipher than they had been before. Why? What was happening?

Charlie’s soft chuckle and response were barely audible. They must’ve moved away from his bed. Or… no, maybe they were leaving. They couldn’t do that! They had to stay there, by his bedside, squeezing his hand and speaking to him in gentle voices and waiting for him to wake up…

Quickly and easily, sleep washed over Castiel and reclaimed him, carrying his motionless body back to the dark depths of peaceful oblivion.

 

* * *

 

“Poor guy…”

Cas felt like he’d been hit by a train. He blearily came back to reality, but, like the last time he’d regained consciousness, his eyes refused to open and his limbs remained stiff and unyielding. The person speaking sounded vaguely like Gabe.

“I know,” a second person, Sam, agreed. The two didn’t touch Cas the way Jo and Charlie had, but their presence offered him reassurance nevertheless. They both had grown closer to Castiel over the past few months. If someone were to ask, he’d gladly refer to them as friends.

“When’s your brother gonna grow a set and come in here?”

“Eh, I don’t know,” Sam sighed. He knew Dean better than anyone. Cas wished he could open his mouth and ask one of the questions from his endless list of concerns. He wanted to ask if Dean had been worried about him, if he was one of those considerate boyfriends that spent the night sleeping in one of the uncomfortable seats, neck bent at an awkward angle, in hopes of catching a glimpse of his partner’s bright eyes once again. The thought sparked a sudden warmth in his chest.

“I’m hoping he will soon. The stubborn jackasses should really talk it out.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve been telling that to Dean, and he just looks at me with that same ‘you don’t know what you’re talking about- I know everything’ expression on his face,” Sam mumbled dejectedly.

The old squeaky chair by Castiel’s bedside creaked unpleasantly. Whoever had been sitting down- Cas couldn’t determine their locations in the room by just the sound of their voices- must’ve finally stood. Like when Charlie and Jo had appeared to be on the brink of leaving, he wanted to call out to the two men, to grab the nearest person’s hand and tug until they stumbled back into the squeaky chair.

Cas was afraid. As paranoid and- as much as he hated to admit it- illogical his fear was, he couldn’t seem to shake it. It felt like the darkness watched his every move, waiting patiently to retrieve its latest conquest. He worried that he would _never_ be able to open his eyes again. What if he was stuck like this for the rest of his life? What if he spent the rest of his days on earth as a comatose vegetable, hooked up to various machines that barely managed to keep his frail body and mind from slipping away?

“Sounds like Dean to me.” Gabe’s scoff dragged Castiel away from his disturbing thoughts. If only he could make eye contact with his visitors, to convey with just one look how frightened he was. He needed to get out of there. Even as a kid, he’d never been a big fan of hospitals. He’d worked hard over the years to push it to the back of his mind with all of the other irrational nonsense floating around in his mind. But, based on the way he felt now, he couldn’t help but feel that his childish fear of needles and sickness had returned.

“He can be a real…”

The rest of his sentence was lost to Castiel. _Sam must be leaving_ , he mused. It certainly sounded like he was heading out of the room and back to the waiting room. He and Gabe would reunite with Dean and assure him that Castiel was alright. They’d sit by his side and discuss random things to pass the time. Maybe they’d get bored and go home. Maybe they’d head down to grab food and forget to come back. Maybe they’d…

And the soft whirring of the machines lulled Cas back to sleep.

 

* * *

 

The next time Castiel regained consciousness, he’d already resigned himself to the disappointing fact that Dean simply didn’t wish to see him.

Was it because of the way he looked? His face probably looked pale, his cheeks hollow and lips tinged purple. Dark circles likely colored the skin beneath his eyes, the horrific shade of gray a stark contrast against his sickly, pallid complexion. He must look terrible. But that was what a person in his situation was supposed to look like. Or were his injuries more minor than he’d previously thought and he’d overdramatized the whole thing?

“…I hope he wakes up soon, doctor…”

That… could it be?

The speaker seemed to be getting closer. “Well, thank you for everything. I’ll just stay in here, and maybe that’ll do the trick,” the person boomed. Castiel’s mind immediately began to analyze the tone, poking and prodding, desperately searching for even the slightest bit of familiarity.

Another speaker answered the new visitor. The man laughed, a contagious sound that steadily grew louder and louder. Eventually, it got to the point that Cas figured the man stood in the room with him. As a matter of fact, it seemed like he stood right beside his bed.

The person let out a few more tiny huffs of laughter before tapering down to a content sigh. Silence followed in the wake of his enthusiastic display, looming over the room, filling every crack and crevice as if it were a tangible thing a person could reach out and grab. Castiel’s already dry throat felt even drier when he heard the rustling of clothing and ear-grating sound of metal scraping across linoleum.  His guest, whoever he was, had taken a seat. It seemed like he planned on staying for a while.

“Hm.” It sounded far too deep to be the voice of a woman. That knocked Charlie and Jo out of the running. He considered Gabe and Sam, but it made no sense for them to return this soon. Of course, Cas had no semblance of time. For all he knew, the two might’ve come to see him three days ago. He wouldn’t know the difference.

“I-I can’t believe I let this happen.”

If Castiel had control over his movements at that moment, he could only imagine how his body would’ve reacted to that voice. Rich and deep, smooth and melodic, like a fine-tuned instrument. The way he pronounced each word- it brought back memories of the way he whispered Cas’s name against his skin or against his lips between heated kisses. He could easily listen to this person speak for hours.

Dean. Dean. _Dean_. The name seeped into Castiel’s bones, rippled across his skin, brushed along his eyelids. With it, he felt like he was whole once again. He wanted to take. He needed to _have_.

“I was being a stupid jackass,” Dean continued, weak and clearly beaten down. Cas wanted to touch him, to cradle his face in his hands and convince him that he was so very wrong. “If I had just trusted you in the beginning…”

That sounded like a sniffle. No, please, he couldn’t be crying. No one should shed tears over Castiel. He wasn’t deserving of such a profound gesture, especially when it came to Dean. He ached to part his lips and speak. Even more so than earlier, he wanted to open his mouth and offer up his own apology. Dean hadn’t been completely in the wrong, after all. They were both at fault.

“And, when you wake up- which I know you will- I hope that you’ll… that you’ll forgive me.”

Each word pierced through Castiel’s heart. He was coming under heavy fire, bombarded from every direction, caught in the inescapable onslaught of emotions, and Dean, for some godforsaken reason, wouldn’t _stop_.

“I’ll take you to that stupid bowling alley you’re always talking about. A-and I’ll let you drive Baby. Only for a couple blocks, but still, you’ll love being behind the wheel. Then we can go out to dinner at that weird hole-in-the-wall place you keep suggesting. Or maybe we can go back to your dorm. O-or back to my place, and you can actually watch me work for once.”

Dean stopped. The “once” came out much too shaky for Cas’s liking. He hated seeing this side of Dean. He wanted the chipper, self-confident lawyer back, the one that sassed his equally sassy boss, the one that tried not to act like a sensitive boyfriend but miserably failed every time, the one that smirked and laughed and _cared_ -

His heart physically ached. The pressure on his chest and on his eyelids felt even more oppressive than before. A touch- that’s all it would take. And the chance to talk to Dean, to possibly worm his way through that absurdly thick skull, to show him how special he really was. No one else understood Dean like Castiel did, of that much he was now absolutely sure.

“We- hm.” Dean interrupted his own train of thought. Based on the return of creaky plastic, Cas assumed that he had gotten to his feet. The thought of not having Dean there sickened him more than any of the prior absences. For some horrible reason, his apology sounded more like a goodbye.

That couldn’t be it. There was no way Dean was telling him goodbye. Cas hadn’t even had a chance to speak with him yet. His arguments were logical, were sound- Dean would surely agree and stay. He _had_ to.

A warm puff of air suddenly ghosted across Castiel’s lips. It lingered there for several seconds before slowly travelling up his face, tickling his nose and closed eyes, and stopped at his forehead. Dean’s breathing seemed uneven. Its erratic pattern brushed against Cas’s skin once, twice, three times before it ceased all together.

 _Gone_ , Castiel immediately decided. It was the only reasonable explanation for the loss of warmth against his sweaty skin. He’d finally come to his senses. Or at least what he thought were his senses.

Right as Cas was about to sink back into sleep, a soft pair of lips pressed lightly to his temple. They seemed to hesitate, as if unsure as to how to proceed. For a few seconds of absolute bliss, Castiel basked in the feeling. It reminded him of the day Dean had pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before slipping out of the shop wearing his coffee-stained shirt.

_"I can see that," Dean laughed, dragging Cas along beside him, “let’s get you a new shirt. You can just have this one, and I’ll run home and grab another one before heading off to work."_

If Cas could cry, he knew that he would’ve at that moment.

The contact didn’t last long. And, right as Dean leaned away, he whispered softly against Castiel’s hairline, “I love you.”

 

* * *

 

The lobby was overwhelmingly quiet. Gabe hated quiet.

Unnerved by the silence, he turned to Sam. He, on the other hand, didn’t seem to be too concerned about the situation. His long legs were crossed, his one leather clad foot twitching back and forth. A magazine sat open in his lap- a _Sports Illustrated_ , it looked like- and all of his attention remained focused on its glossy pages. He refused to meet Gabe’s curious stare.

He huffed and crossed his arms. If Sam wanted to pull this crap, then two could play at that game. He opened his mouth, ready to pelt Sam with random obnoxious banter. It wouldn’t be the first time; the tactic just so happened to be a personal favorite of his. But, for once, Sam beat him to it. “Listen, there’s something I need to say.”

Gabe leaned away, taken aback. He blinked and cocked his head to the side. “O…kay?”

“Yeah, well…” Sam hesitated. He crinkled the edges of the magazine and, with a frustrated whine, closed it. He slid it into the empty seat beside him and turned back towards Gabe, resting his hands in his lap. “I’m not really sure how I want to… uh… go about saying it.”

“Oh, for the love of God. Please don’t tell me you’re going to confess your love to me or some shit because I’m pretty sure we’ve been over this before. You said that we could just be friends and that you were cool with that and you wouldn’t try to-”

“No, no, no!” Sam cried, hazel eyes wide and bulging. He raised both hands and gestured for Gabe to settle down. “That’s not it.”

“Oh.” Gabe shrunk back into his seat. He hadn’t realized that he’d leaned closer to Sam during his heated little tirade, completely forgetting the all-too-important concept of personal space. Frustrated with himself, he crossed his arms yet again and narrowed his eyes, flashing Sam an exasperated leer. “Then what? It sounds pretty important.”

“It is.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah,” Sam mumbled. A shy Sam was not the kind of Sam he was familiar with. He felt like a man lost at sea in uncharted waters, practically losing his mind as he searched everywhere for a map to navigate the obnoxiously complicated ocean that lie ahead.

“…And? C’mon, Sam, we don’t have all day,” Gabe encouraged. He hoped that it didn’t come out too harsh. He certainly didn’t intend for it to. Ashamed and a little concerned, he quickly threw in, “I mean, we actually _could_ have all day considering the fact our resident sleeping beauty is getting some serious shuteye in there.”

Sam let out a shocked little laugh and shook his head. “You make a good point,” he agreed, “but now’s as good a time as any. And this… I really want you to hear this.”

A lump suddenly clogged Gabe’s throat. He swallowed and offered Sam a small nod, silently urging him to go on. On the inside, his subconscious was screaming at him. _He’s going to say something, and you’ll be right back at the beginning! All of that hard work for nothing!_ It was true. He’d spent a great deal of time trying to deny his feelings for Sam. If the bastard turned around and said something foolish now, even if he had no idea how romantic and life-changing it was to Gabe, it would ruin everything.

“I’m not the best with words- just ask Dean.” Sam laughed nervously and glanced over at Gabe, clearly expecting him to have a similar reaction. He didn’t. “But I’ll give it my best shot,” he finished with a sigh.

He cleared his throat, shifting impatiently in his seat. Before resuming his explanation, he uncrossed his legs and made sure that his eyes stared directly into Gabe’s. The tension in the room thickened, like the exaggeratedly thick fog in a Scooby-Doo episode. Gabe half-expected the talking dog to pop up out of nowhere and slice a circle so as to poke his head through, a wide grin on his face and a dog biscuit or two in his paw.

“I want you to know that if you do meet someone else- and I hope you do- they better treat you like a king. Well, not a _king_. Your ego doesn’t need any more boosting.” Gabe rolled his eyes and reached out to shove Sam playfully. He snickered in response to the gesture and rubbed the place Gabe’s hand had struck as if it might actually bruise. Which they both knew it wouldn’t.

“Hey, I’m just kidding! What I’m trying to say is that I just… you deserve to be happy,” Sam explained in a gentle voice. Each word burrowed under Gabe’s skin, slipping into his bloodstream where it travelled through his veins, all the way down to his fingertips. He shivered and crossed his arms even more tightly. “No matter what, I want you to be happy.”

The final words were like a shot through the heart. Although Gabe had always thought that the phrase seemed cliché, he was beginning to think he’d been wrong. In the past, he’d wondered, _how could words possibly feel like bullets_? But they did. He felt an ache in his chest unlike he’d anything he’d ever experienced before. It wasn’t like the ache when Sam had told him to forget about their night together. This felt different- in a good way. Like a pain that quickly dulled and transformed into a warmth, a wildfire, that spread across his skin.

“I-I do, too. I want you to find someone, Sam, I really do,” Gabe managed to croak in response. His throat felt dry and, once again, he swallowed down the lump in his throat. He wouldn’t cry; he was stronger than that.

The corners of Sam’s lips rose into a hesitant smile. “And thank you,” Gabe finished, quickly tacking the apology at the end, “for, you know. That. All of- what you said.”

Instead of teasing him for the stutter in his speech or the odd choice of words, Sam reached over and wrapped his much larger hands around Gabe’s shaky fists. He held them together and squeezed. Those stunning hazel eyes had yet to leave Gabe’s, steadfast and honest, just like the man its owner hoped to become. The grin on his excited face was contagious, and Gabe couldn’t help but return it.

“No, Gabriel,” Sam whispered. He finally tore his gaze away from his friend’s and peered down at their hands. “Thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Dean had never been the biggest Harry Potter fan in the world. Sure, he liked the books well enough, and the movies were pretty decent. He just wouldn’t consider himself a fanatic or anything. But, with two sets of equally murderous glares focused on him, his mind immediately went to Harry Potter, and he wished, more than anything else, that he owned an Invisibility Cloak.

“You stupid jackass,” Jo growled. It wasn’t the first time Dean had been called such so he simply shrugged off the insult.

“Yeah, what the hell is your problem?” Charlie was closer, her fiery red hair hanging in front of Dean’s face, close enough to reach out and grab. Which, of course, he would never dream of doing. That is, unless he wanted to be punched in the face and tossed across the waiting room.

Panicking, he glanced over at where Gabe and Sam sat. The two seemed to be deep in conversation. He wanted to flash them a delighted smile, or maybe a thumbs up, for finally getting their heads out of their asses, but the action would require him to look up. If he did that, the full force of Jo and Charlie’s leers would be upon him. He wouldn’t wish that kind of fate on anyone- well, except for Benny.

Dean narrowed his eyes and clenched his hands into fists, bunching the fabric of his suit jacket in his grasp. The name made him want to rush to the nearest car, drive to the bastard’s house, and run over him as he walked out onto the sidewalk with that goddamn swagger in his step. The absolute nerve of some people never ceased to amaze Dean. Once you thought the world’s filthiest human beings were gone, they resurfaced with a vengeance, destroying any innocent bystanders who got in their way, whether they intended to or not.

“I’m sorry.” For a minute, Dean forgot that he was the one who’d said those words- and out loud, at that.

The strands of hair that had previously filled his vision vanished. Jo and Charlie clearly hadn’t expected an apology. Hoping that they’d leaned away (and Jo had put away her Swiss Army knife, which he was certain she must have on her person _somewhere_ ), Dean straightened up in his seat.

As he’d hoped, the two furious girls had moved out of his space and were currently staring at him like he’d sprouted a second head. Charlie’s mouth gaped open, and Jo’s brow was furrowed. Both looked extremely confused, but not necessarily in a bad way.

“Huh?”

“Did you just…?”

“Apologize? Yes,” Dean clarified. When neither of them spoke up, he decided it was safe to continue. “I deserve this- the two of you being so mad at me. I fucked up big time.”

Blonde and red hair flew in every direction as the girls enthusiastically nodded their heads in agreement. Dean rolled his eyes at their overdramatic behavior. Once they stopped, cheeks flushed and lips curled into mischievous smirks, he resumed his apology. “I was an idiot. I don’t know what else to say other than that.”

He shrugged his shoulders and let out a weak chuckle. Neither of his listeners found the comment funny. Charlie sighed heavily, and Jo mumbled something that sounded like “dumbass” under her breath. Dean turned to meet each of their gazes. Neither shied away from the glances, but flames danced behind Jo’s deep brown eyes when he looked her way.

“You could say, ‘I should’ve trusted Cas because he and Benny are completely different people,’” she snapped.

Dean didn’t disagree. He had no idea what to say to that, though, and instead stared at her, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

“Or…” Charlie sounded a little more hesitant. “You could say, ‘I should’ve talked things out a lot sooner.’”

“I _know_ ,” Dean huffed, frustrated. Nothing they had said was news to him. He knew what he’d done wrong; only a fool wouldn’t. “Seriously, I’m sorry. I’m not sure how to get it across to you guys, but, I swear, I _am_.”

Silence followed his sad attempt at an apology. Both girls stayed surprisingly quiet. Jo’s teeth mercilessly worried at her bottom lip, chewing away every bit of pent-up anxiety. Charlie played absentmindedly with a strand of hair, wrapping it around her finger and watching intently as it unraveled. Dean felt nauseous. These two girls had known Cas for a while- especially Jo. If they couldn’t forgive him, how could Cas?

“Fine.”

Dean’s heart leapt in his chest. Excited, he turned to face Jo. She didn’t seem to share in his excitement, though. “Under one condition.”

“Anything,” Dean pleaded. And he meant it. God, did he mean it.

“You apologize to Cas,” she growled, “ _and_ you two stupid dicks get back together.”

Dean began nodding his head in agreement before she could even finish. He could do that.

 

* * *

 

_A set of long fingers suddenly wrapped around Cas’s wrists and squeezed gently. Hesitantly, he lifted his head. Even though he’d seen Dean’s face up close many times before, the flakes of golden brown near the center of his irises and the thin ring of olive green surrounding them still managed to render him speechless. The freckle that rested in the center of the bridge of his nose, the one below his left eye, the one at the corner of his right eye- each small mark beautiful in its own unique way. Cas noted for what was probably the thousandth time that Dean was a strikingly handsome man. How had he gotten so lucky?_

_“Don’t sell yourself short,” Dean whispered, bringing his other hand up to cradle Castiel’s face. He felt his cheeks flush. He hadn’t realized he’d said the last part out loud. “You’re pretty easy on the eyes yourself.”_

_“Dean…” Castiel scolded weakly. Dean carefully brushed his thumb down the side of Cas’s face, across his cheekbone, beside his nose, briefly on the corner of his mouth, and finally on the tip of his chin. He used his hold on Castiel’s chin to tilt his head up, moving it slowly and gently into place. The flush had yet to leave Cas’s cheeks, and his brain hadn’t quite remembered how to function yet._

_“I wish you could see what I see when I look at you,” Dean mumbled, leaning a little closer. Cas could feel the warmth of his breath on his lips, so temptingly close. “Your eyes… shit, they’re just so blue. But not the kind of blue people usually obsess over. They’re darker… kind of like denim. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”_

_“You’re just trying to be nice,” Castiel insisted. His eyes weren’t anything out of the ordinary. There were a lot of other people who shared the same eye color as him. Besides, no one had ever pointed out their uniqueness before. Not like Dean was._

_“I’m serious. Trust me, I don’t lie about this kind of stuff.” Castiel felt the familiar tendrils of heat creep across his skin._

_Without warning, Dean closed the little space that separated he and Cas. The hand that had held Castiel’s chin shifted down to rest on his jaw, while the one that had been clutching his wrist snaked around his neck, long fingers buried in the hair at the nape of his neck. He couldn’t help but melt against Dean. Cas’s arms seemed to have a mind of their own as they wrapped around the other man’s waist, drawing him in closer._

_Dean sighed contentedly and tugged playfully on Castiel’s bottom lip, drawing a small surprised gasp from his parted lips. He hadn’t been expecting it, but there was something thrilling about the way Dean kissed. Each one always started out chaste, but, it only took seconds for it to become hungrier, more desperate and heated. Although he’d gotten over most of his aversion to intimacy, Dean continued to respect his personal boundaries by starting out slow. It was one of many things Castiel loved about him._

_What was-_

_Light?_

Light, horrendously bright, filtered through the darkness Castiel had surprisingly become accustomed to. Completely confused as to what was going on, he blearily cracked his eyes open, wanting nothing more than to shut them when the full power of the fluorescent hospital lights shined right into his half-opened eyes.

It hurt to crack them open all the way, but Cas did so anyway. As he blinked away the little dots and stars clouding his vision, he first saw two sets of eyeliner-rimmed eyes. Their hair and facial expressions came into focus next, each head of hair tied back into a messy ponytail, something they’d clearly done in a rush. Once he could differentiate between the hair colors, he noted that Jo wore her lavender sweater, and Charlie had thrown on one of her favorite Star Wars t-shirts, one with Darth Vader and the words “Sith Happens” emblazoned on the front. He’d always liked the shirt. With as much energy as he could muster, Castiel curled his lips into a weak smile.

“Hey,” he rasped. _Ew_. Immediately, he brought his hands up to cover his mouth, horrified by the sound of his own voice. It was scratchy and nothing at all like his normal voice. The horrible drone reminded him of a chain smoker. He cringed and reluctantly lowered his hands when Charlie began to laugh.

“It’s not funny!”

“I don’t know, it’s a _little_ funny,” Charlie snorted, shaking her head. She was perched in the chair over in the corner of the little hospital room, while Jo stood near the foot of the bed, eyes flitting around the room as if she worried what would happen if she came to stand by Castiel’s bedside. For some odd reason, she looked uncomfortable. Cas couldn’t remember whether she’d ever mentioned disliking places like this or not.

“Whatever,” Cas huffed stubbornly. He went to cross his arms and nearly toppled off of the bed. He hadn’t even realized he was sitting up , using his arms to brace himself and keep from, well, doing what he’d almost done. His staggering only made Charlie laugh harder, but Jo remained quiet, fixing Castiel with an eerily serious look.

“Sam took Dean back to work,” Jo mumbled.

Castiel twisted the thin blanket in his grasp and glanced down at his fingers, hypnotized by the white of his knuckles. Dean hadn’t waited. Instead of hanging around until he reawakened, he went into work. Fucking _work_. What did that mean? Was he trying to send some kind of message?

“He didn’t want to, though.”

His fingers unclenched, splaying out on top of the blanket. Baffled by Jo’s words, he slowly raised his head, desperate to see her face. Although she had a decent poker face, Castiel had always been the best at reading her like an open book. The painfully serious expression hadn’t left her face. Everything was still hard lines and downturned lips, a stray strand of blonde hair hanging in front of the bridge of her nose. Cas wanted to reach out and place the errant strand behind her ear where he thought it belonged.

“S-So is he still mad at me?” Castiel stuttered. He silently cursed himself when the question tumbled from his lips like it had. “I kind of expected him to wait around.”

“Yeah, well, Sam talked him into it.”

_Sam?_

“That’s hard for me to believe. Sam doesn’t seem like the type.” Her response didn’t make sense. Why would Sam ever do such a thing? He had been the one to try and shove the two back together. It would be ridiculous to keep them apart now, after everything that’d happened. This was the time Castiel needed Dean most, and Sam decided that he would be better off at the _office_?

Jo didn’t seem like she had an answer. She finally reached up and pushed the silky piece of golden hair behind her ear and glanced over at Charlie. The redhead shrugged her shoulders, offering a silent, _don’t look at_ me _._ Disappointed, Jo huffed and turned back to Castiel. Her lips twitched, a tiny little movement that he almost missed. And, now that she’d fiddled with her hair once, it was as if she couldn’t stop. The ponytail swung back and forth as she reached up and smoothed down any obvious flyaways.

Skeptical and, admittedly, concerned, Cas asked the one question he needed the answer to. “Are Dean and I… do you think we’re okay?”

Charlie then did the last thing Castiel expected her to: she laughed. Completely and utterly lost, he leveled Jo with a questioning stare, but the sudden snickering didn’t appear to bother her. As if she and Charlie had made it their mission to confuse Castiel, the one corner of Jo’s lips rose into a crooked smile.

_Well, shit just got weird._

“Yeah, Cas, I think so,” she insisted. Something about the lighting made her look more demonic than she ever had before- and that was saying a lot. “It doesn’t matter anyway. If Dean tries to pull any more of that bullshit, I’ll punch him in the face.”

And with that devilish glint in her eyes and wicked smirk on her lips, Castiel believed her wholeheartedly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cries* Only 1 chapter left and the epilogue!


	24. And Reunion Did Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Because he would know that face anywhere. He could pick it out from a crowd, a crowd of unimaginable size, without any difficulty. Hell, he could probably do it blindfolded."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... here we are. The last chapter (not including the epilogue, of course). I've edited this chapter for the past four days, and, even so, I'm still worried that people will be disappointed. I'd love for you all to voice any of your hopes for the epilogue because I haven't started it yet and want to satisfy as many people as I can.
> 
> In case you're confused as to what the title's from, I took it from an anime series. So yeah, in case you were wondering.
> 
> I have no warnings for this chapter other than very _very_ mild violence at the end. You'll see what I mean when you get there. 
> 
> Other than that, I would like to thank all of the readers that have stuck with me. This is the first multiple chap fic that I've written, and I can't believe how many people enjoyed this. Hell, I only intended for it to be a oneshot in the very beginning! I've appreciated every comment, kudo, and bookmark you, my readers, have given me. It has helped to give me confidence, particularly as a writer. I don't think I'll ever be completely confident, but, eh, that's just the way my brain works. I'll never be perfect- no one can be- and that's fine with me.
> 
> Well, sorry about the length of this note, oops. I guess I got a little carried away. It's been a fun ride! Remember to tag any tumblr posts with "fic: ihtu" and to come chat with me on [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com) and/or [twitter](http://twitter.com/nezumistiel) whenever you'd like!

On a Tuesday just like any other, Castiel returned home to his dorm, fully recovered from his injuries. He should’ve been happy, content to return to the real world and resume his daily routine, but, lucky for him, that’s not how his brain worked. Cas was there for maybe a grand total of five minutes before he felt like he might go completely insane.

He couldn’t stop pacing the length of his room, muttering equations under his breath, a tactic he hadn’t used in a while but found to be completely necessary at a dire time such as this. The familiar pattern of numbers and letters usually set his mind at ease. No matter what life might throw his way, no matter how disoriented or lost he might feel, he always had mathematics and science to fall back on. The world around him constantly changed, but, in the midst of all the swirling mass of fluctuating chaos, equations remained the same, some of the universe’s few constants.

When his legs eventually grew tired, he flopped down on his bed and peered up at the ceiling, tracing the barely visible lines and ridges on its surface with his gaze. His mind continued to wander as he lied there, and he couldn’t seem to shut the damn thing off, not even for a second. He’d try just about anything to get it to stop. Music could be soothing, right? Or maybe he could watch one of his favorite television shows or movies. Any normal person would love something like that. But, for some unforeseen reason, the options didn’t appeal to Castiel. Not even Star Wars- and that was saying a lot.

Castiel huffed angrily and sat up. He tossed his pillow to the floor for no particular reason other than the fact that he could and glared at it as if _it_ were the source of his problems. The longer he stared at the stupid plush object, sitting harmless a few feet away, the more he became convinced that it would morph into a freckled face, the same one that played a recurring role in his recent dreams. Then, it wouldn’t be all that innocent anymore. Stupid pillow and its stupid-

That was the final straw. Was he really taking out his anger and frustration on a _pillow_? He needed to get the hell out of his dorm before he tore all his hair out. Or did something more embarrassing like, oh, making out with the poor harmless pillow he would later swear had transformed into Dean Winchester’s smirking face.

Gabe’s offer no longer appealed to Cas. Being the kindhearted angel that he was, Gabe had insisted that Castiel take all the time off from work that he needed. Only to a certain extent, of course, but he appreciated the suggestion. Gabe had asked that Cas at least come at the end of the week since his other employees would get pissed if they had to pick up Castiel’s shifts. The man didn’t have a plethora of workers to pick and choose from. Cas’s absence would eventually affect Gabe’s profits, and he didn’t want that for his boss.

But, at that moment, Castiel would do _anything_ to take his mind off of everything that had happened in the past couple weeks, including his hospital stay. Gabe would probably berate him and swear up and down that he needed rest, that although he might _think_ he was fully recovered, he actually wasn’t. But, at this point, he could spout harsh words or criticism until he was blue in the face; Cas had already decided that he would go in.

Still, the hospital… Dean hadn’t been there when he woke up. Based on what Castiel’s other visitors had told him, though, his boyfriend- or ex-boyfriend?- had spent the entire day at the hospital. Dean had maybe gotten up a few times to use the bathroom and grab a water or snack from the cafeteria, but, other than that, he’d remained a permanent fixture in the waiting room. The information would’ve normally made Castiel’s heart soar. For someone to do something like that, it must mean they really care about the person they hoped to see. But, in this case, the facts only made him more frustrated.

Why, of all times, had he left before seeing Castiel? If he’d waited there that long- from the moment Castiel had been brought in- why not just wait a little longer? And, worse yet, why had his stupid fucking brother agreed to take him into work?

Honestly, Cas felt a little betrayed. He’d always thought Sam was on his side. Now, he didn’t have the slightest clue as to who he sided with. Castiel, Dean, Gabe- or were Dean and Gabe on the same side? He had no idea.

Oh, and that was another thing he’d ask Gabe the next time they talked. If he were truly Cas’s friend, why had he let Sam, the friend closest to him, whisk his idiot brother away? Sometimes Gabe was the only person Sam would listen to. A couple words of encouragement would’ve done the trick.

Castiel sighed and glanced over at his phone where it balanced precariously on the edge of his bedside table. He should call Gabe and tell him. The shop was the best place for him to be, a sanctuary of sorts, just like it had been when he and Dean first stopped talking to one another. Gabe would understand, and, surely, he’d be excited to have Castiel back. Well, at least after he gave him another obligatory speech about the importance of rest following an injury.

Cas reached over and snatched the phone before he could change his mind.

Even as he pressed Gabe’s contact image and waited impatiently for the snarky son of a bitch to pick up, Dean’s words floated through his mind. The last thing he’d said before walking away, a whisper, barely audible, against Castiel’s sweat-slick skin.

 _I love you_.

Had he really meant that?

 

* * *

 

 _Watch for the red light… listen for the little beep… focus on coffee, for the love of God, just focus on brewing coffee_.

So, Castiel’s brilliant plan to go into work, to occupy his time and, therefore, forget about all of his problems, wasn’t exactly going the way he’d planned it to. He’d thought his mindless tasks around the shop, ranging from greeting customers to brewing coffee to making small talk with any lingering guests, would serve as decent distractions. But no, of fucking course not. From the moment he stepped inside and assumed his position behind the counter, he could tell that something was missing. Well, one thing in particular, but it was a pretty big thing, the kind of thing that would easily plague his thoughts for the duration of his shift.

Even though he knew his attempts were rather pathetic and Gabe probably thought so, too, Castiel still kept his eyes trained on the front door, secretly hoping they would swing open, and a certain regular customer of theirs would strut into the room like he’d done many times before. He’d lean against the counter, flash Cas a flirtatious smirk, fix him with a lingering stare that raised goose bumps on his arms, maybe pull the barista aside to place a quick kiss on his cheek. It’d be like every other day. In Castiel’s dream world, he imagined the interaction would remedy the situation and everything would return to normal.

And, as if Dean’s absence wasn’t causing Cas enough grief, quirky and unusual Gabe was acting strange- stranger than usual. Sure, Gabe wasn’t the pinnacle of normality, but his behavior seemed awfully bizarre and concerned Cas for a number of reasons. Instead of meandering around the shop, stopping at random tables to wipe them clean or converse with the people sitting there, he only stepped out from behind the counter a handful of times. Every ten minutes or so, he would mumble a quick, “be right back,” and flee to his office, slamming the door behind him and, the last couple instances when Cas trailed after him, nearly sent it smashing into his employee’s dumbstruck face. Castiel had never been inside the tiny room before, but he couldn’t imagine why such a place would claim so much of Gabe’s attention. What could he possibly be doing back there?

After about the fourth or fifth time, Castiel addressed the issue, approaching it with caution for fear of how Gabe would take his nosiness. He’d had enough of his scurrying around, all of the unnaturally fidgety movements and behavior. He imagined having a Chihuahua as a coworker would be similar to working alongside this anxious Gabe doppelganger.

“What do you keep doing back there?” Castiel wondered, leaning casually against the counter with a stack of Styrofoam cups in his right hand.

“I… what do you mean?”

 _Wow, way to not come off as suspicious_ , Castiel mused. “I mean that you keep running off to your office without any kind of explanation. You’re not acting like yourself, and it’s kinda starting to creep me out.”

Gabe rolled his eyes and shrugged as if his peculiar demeanor meant nothing. “Eh, I’m just checking my phone, nothing special. I’m supposed to get a call about the latest shipment of coffee. The stuff should be coming in any day now.”

The corners of his lips rose into a shaky smile. Castiel didn’t buy it, though, not for a second. Gabe hadn’t quite mastered his indifferent façade yet. Something was clearly off, and Cas wouldn’t rest until he figured out exactly what that something was.

“Oh. Okay then,” Castiel mumbled in response. He straightened up and placed the cups in their respective place next to the coffee machines. The actions came naturally to him at this point, and he tried to arrange everything while keeping his expression blank. Emotional distance always wound Gabe up; he took pride in his ability to read other people and hated the occasions he couldn’t do so.

But, to Castiel’s horror, Gabe didn’t take the bait. Instead, he stepped over to the cash register and absentmindedly swiped his washrag across the countertop surrounding it. He remained silent, which in and of itself was weird. Not only would Gabe jump at the chance to try and decipher Cas’s feelings, he would normally tease him about dropping the issue without any semblance of a fight.

Completely out of the blue, Gabe cocked his head to the side and sighed, “I wonder if Dean will ever come back.”

Castiel stiffened, thankful that the cups were no longer in his hand. He would’ve crushed the poor things had they still been in his grasp. He turned to Gabe and narrowed his eyes, flashing him a frustrated leer. In typical Gabe fashion, he didn’t shy away or wither under the intensity of Castiel’s gaze. He continued to stare at the counter with an almost bored expression on his face. Frustrated, Cas reached out and gripped his shoulder, giving it a quick shake.

Gabe reluctantly lifted his gaze, regarding Cas with pursed lips. His eyes flickered around the room, but not once did they linger on Castiel. The guilt practically rolled off of the shorter man in waves. “What the hell is your problem?” Cas growled, taking a step closer, hoping to intimidate his boss using his superior height.

Of course, he should’ve known better; that method never worked on Gabe. He merely grinned, as mischievous as ever, and placed his hands on his hips, cocking one to the side. “Nice try, Cassie, but you don’t scare me.”

Castiel gritted his teeth and leaned back ever so slightly to give Gabe some space. He had a point; Cas had never been able to frighten someone into submission. No matter how hard he tried, people explained that his harsh glare looked more like that of a person caught up in a losing battle with constipation than anything remotely threatening.

“Besides, it’s a legitimate question. I’m wondering just how stubborn that jackass is,” Gabe snorted and adjusted his stance so that his other hip jutted out instead. Castiel knew what he meant, but he still couldn’t bring himself to believe his reasoning. He usually trusted Gabe wholeheartedly. But his current behavior kept Cas from accepting his explanation.

“Why don’t you go back to arranging the cups, and I’ll watch for customers, okay?”

 _Not okay_. “Sure, works for me,” Castiel grumbled, turning his back and, for the time being, accepted defeat. 

His mind wandered while he fiddled with the cups and cardboard sleeves. Gabe’s words clung to his already frazzled mind, unwilling to fade back into his subconscious where he could more easily ignore them. He’d convinced himself that going into work would be better and yet here he was, suffering under the burden of the same negativity and impatience he’d experienced back in his dorm, pacing and moping on his bed.

Dean wouldn’t come back, would he? He and Sam were probably at the office, carrying on as if nothing had changed. They’d chat and laugh and completely forget about the unwanted thorn in Dean’s side, the insignificant college student who he had finally grown tired of.

The unspoken rejection frightened Castiel. As a child, he used to be the apple of his mother and father’s eyes. They praised him for his academic achievements and bragged about him to anyone that would listen, willingly or not. He was a determined boy who hoped to succeed later in life- exactly what any parent would kill to have. But, even though he was constantly fawned over and made out to be a genius, it felt like there was something missing in his life.

Until he’d met Jo, he hadn’t known what that something was. Most people avoided him. He barely spoke and avoided social events. Of course, his classmates immediately jumped to the conclusion that he was an arrogant snob, the kind of ambitious overachiever that believed he was far superior to everyone else and, therefore, didn’t deign to speak to or spend time with his classmates. The shy boy who sat in the back of the classroom, sitting ramrod straight in his seat, focused fully on the teacher…

Some called him a “teacher’s pet.” Others called him a “mama’s boy,” a “daddy’s boy,” and, worst of all, a “freak.” They whispered hideous things about him during class and in the hallways, making sure that their voices were loud enough for Castiel to hear as he passed them by. Several students threw in a shove here and there just to emphasize their disgust.

And, to make matters even worse, his father was a preacher. That probably sounded odd, but reputations were important in a small town. Many people throughout the community knew his parents well, and even those that didn’t know had heard stories. The listeners were usually the ones that concocted horrific assumptions concerning the preacher, his arrogant wife, and their freakishly smart son. Rumors spread and students at school became progressively nastier over the years. Then Jo came along and changed everything- an angel in disguise.

Thankfully, his relationship with his parents had remained strong for most of his childhood. Nothing really changed until he befriended Jo, and she inadvertently helped him discover his sexuality. After informing his parents that, although he didn’t know exactly what interested him sexually, he knew with certainty he wasn’t heterosexual, Castiel moved into his dorm, and, to his dismay, their entire relationship dynamic took a drastic turn for the worse.  He received texts on important dates, such as his birthday, but neither parent paid him visits and rarely asked him to return home over the holidays.

Castiel hated it, really. His parents might be many things, but they loved and cared for him all the same. Some days, he wished that he could call them and discuss his troubles the way he used to. It would surely relieve the unimaginable stress resting on his shoulders.

As disappointing as the change was, it paled in comparison to Dean’s strained relationship with his father. From what Castiel knew- and it wasn’t all that much, honestly- the two hadn’t seen or spoken to each other in _years_. What had that done to the poor man? Would he be different now if his father hadn’t left? Or if Benny hadn’t crushed him?

Would he be there at the café with his elbows propped casually on the counter if none of it, all of the crazy bullshit he’d suffered through over the years, had happened?

Castiel shoved the cardboard sleeves into place and pressed his palms into the cool counter’s surface. He breathed in through his mouth, held it for several seconds, and exhaled, letting the air stream slowly past his parted lips. Strength- he had to be strong. He couldn’t let this bother him.

_Ding._

Tiny and inconsequential, the sound of the little bell hanging above the front door didn’t faze Castiel. He lifted the closest stack of Styrofoam cups, the smallest size, and slid them along the counter. Gabe had the register under control so there was no need to turn around.

Suddenly, Gabe laughed. And not just some tiny little snicker- a full-blown cackle. Instead of asking the new customer what he or she would like, he continued to laugh and laugh and _laugh_. Castiel rolled his eyes and sighed loudly in hopes that Gabe would hear it.

“Excuse him,” Cas insisted, his back still to the man or woman on the other side of the counter, “he’s not usually like this. What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have the usual.”

The stack of twenty or so cups dropped to the floor, slipping out of their holder’s shaky grasp. Gabe stopped laughing, and the entire café seemed to go silent, as if the customers were collectively holding their breath.

Time appeared to slow down. For all he knew, the world had ceased its orbit and every spirit, every deity, every god, every omniscient being that watched over humanity (if there were any) collectively decided to take a break and watch the imminent events unfold. The fragrant aroma of brewing coffee, the barely audible sound of cups rolling across the ground, the click of the air conditioning as it came on, the red light on the nearest coffee machine patiently waiting to flash- each detail held Castiel’s focus, seemingly insignificant details that he hadn’t noticed up until this point. Against his body’s will, against every instinct that told him to stay still, to ignore the pull that voice had on him, Castiel glanced over his shoulder.

Brilliant green irises and a smattering of freckles, coupled with a hopeful smirk and adorably mussed bedhead. The black shiny surface of leather dress shoes, the silky fabric of a crimson red tie, the wrinkles and creases that crisscrossed a white button-down shirt. It was almost too much to handle all at once, and, at first, Castiel wished he could look away. Maybe if he blinked, the man behind the counter would vanish, and, for his sake at least, the hallucination would be gone.

Cas tried once, but, when he reopened his eyes, the idiot was still standing there. He silently watched the dumbstruck boy behind the counter, a softness in his gaze, with a cluster of assorted flowers in one hand, wrapped in purple crinkly folds of paper, and an ordinary-looking blue balloon in the other, the words “sorry for being a jackass” scrawled across the front in black Sharpie.

It was cliché and ridiculous and over the top in a pathetic way. Romantic didn’t quite fit; impractical suited the cheesy fanfare better. And yet all Castiel wanted to do, staring back into those stupid goddamned eyes, was cry.

Because he would know that face anywhere. He could pick it out from a crowd, a crowd of unimaginable size, without any difficulty. Hell, he could probably do it blindfolded. He could differentiate the rumbling timbre of that voice even if it were one of many in a cacophony of sound, even with cotton balls or plugs jammed into his ears.

Dean didn’t budge, stock still, holding both the flowers and balloon close, watching Castiel as if he were some kind of national treasure, as if he were one of the Wonders of the World, a gift the universe had bestowed upon its people for their viewing pleasure. Dean didn’t even have to open his mouth. He didn’t have to explain the ridiculous show of gifts he’d brought along. He didn’t have to get on his knees and beg or give a meaningful speech about love and honesty in a relationship. For Castiel, all Dean had to do was be there; that was enough.

Looking back on it, he wondered why he hadn’t thought to say anything. It could’ve easily been because he felt like he’d burst into tears at any moment. It could’ve also been because he had forgotten the speech he’d concocted and tucked away in the corners of his brain for this occasion. It didn’t matter why he kept his mouth sealed shut; what’s done was done.

_“Words can ruin an honest man,” Castiel’s mother had said once, her arms wrapped securely around her son’s waist as he sat quietly on her lap, listening attentively to a bed time story._

_“What do you mean?” He was only a third grader at the time, and, although he possessed an intellect and intuition beyond that of his peers, the words left him confused._

_“A person can deceive you with words,” she explained. Carefully, she reached around and set the book on the carpeted floor beside where they sat. “Sometimes, voicing your feelings is the worst thing you can do. Show people how you feel, and only trust those who can communicate their feelings to you through actions- not words.”_

_“Actions speak louder than words,” Castiel recited softly, leaning back against his mother’s chest. Her chin lightly brushed against the top of his head as she nodded in agreement. “Exactly,” she conceded, “Don’t let your God-given ability to speak ruin you.”_

He’d always admired his mother. Unlike some of his father’s hypocritical clergy, Sarah Novak contributed a great deal to the community and strived to greet every person she encountered with a genuine smile on her sweet face. Her advice had stuck with Castiel over the years. He frequently found himself referring to the words of wisdom she’d granted to him as a child.

As he stared back at Dean from across the counter, hopeful and a little queasy, every conversation they should’ve had in the past couple weeks silently passed between them in those several seconds of locked gazes. The “sorry,” the “I acted like an idiot,” the “I can’t live without you”- each phrase communicated through the dark circles beneath their eyes, the somewhat unkempt hair, the (in Castiel’s case) mismatched socks, and the sadness lining their features.

Like Dean, Cas couldn’t think of some grand thing to say, something that would bridge the gap that had formed between them. There was too much to say and too little time to do so. His mother had probably been right; maybe they didn’t need to use words. Or at least for right now, they didn’t.

So, instead, he settled for the first few words that came to mind. “You’re lucky I love you so much, you dumbass,” he croaked, and, without another word, reached across the counter and dragged Dean closer.

He clung to the familiar fabric of his suit jacket and pulled until their faces were mere centimeters apart. Acting on pure instinct, not giving a damn about what anyone else in the room thought, Castiel pressed his lips to Dean’s in the kind of desperate kiss that involved clashing teeth, noses knocking, and tiny sounds of contentment that both men would likely be embarrassed of later.

Heat coursed through Castiel’s veins, and each tiny noise he drew from the back of Dean’s throat when he shifted position magnified the delicious warmth working its way through his system. The angle was awkward considering the counter that kept them from joining the way they usually did, but the kiss still managed to outshine every one the two had shared in the past. Their bodies fit together once again like adjacent pieces in an unending and surprisingly challenging puzzle, snug, as if they were made for one another. Dean, back in his space once again, filling the holes in his chest he hadn’t realized were there. Cas breathed in the smell of the other man’s aftershave, the faint odor of mouthwash on his breath, the cologne lingering on his skin and clothes. He immersed himself in everything, every little detail, eagerly allowing the world around him to be consumed by Dean and only Dean.

Eventually, they drew back. Dean let out a shaky, nervous laugh and rested his forehead against Castiel’s, their noses still lightly touching. Cas refused to withdraw his hands from Dean’s collar, clinging to it like a lifeline. If he let go now, maybe he’d lose the other man and, this time, he wouldn’t come back. The thought made him tighten his grip, holding Dean firmly in place.

“Get a room!” Gabe cried out, somewhere off to Castiel’s left. But neither he nor Dean turned to look or check to see whether he actually was upset with the nice show they were currently giving his customers.

Cas waited patiently for his eyesight to become fuzzy, for stars to dance along the fringes of his vision, for his surroundings to completely vanish and give way to complete and utter darkness, but nothing happened. As he’d done months ago, Castiel reluctantly released his hold on Dean’s collar- only one hand, though- and pinched a tiny bit of skin between his pointer finger and thumb. An immediate shock of pain coursed its way up his arm, and Cas heaved out a weak laugh. He wasn’t dreaming after all.

“You thought you were dreaming?” Dean mumbled, his breath ghosting across Cas’s lips.

“After everything that’s happened, can you honestly say you blame me?” Castiel whispered, dragging the hand he’d used to pinch himself up to the nape of Dean’s neck. He rested it there and used his thumb to trace tiny circles against the sensitive skin, fully taking advantage of the opportunity to touch Dean again. The other man’s eyes fluttered shut in response, content with the gentle caresses.

“No, I guess I-“

“Come on, lovebirds, take it outside! Some of these people are trying to eat,” Gabe interjected again, clearly frustrated that he’d been ignored the first time. Now he sounded pissed; maybe they should carry on with their reunion somewhere else.

Still, that didn’t mean they couldn’t flash Gabe another fiery glare before separating. Cas pursed his lips in an annoyed pout, the exaggerated kind that let Gabe know he was only teasing, and circled around the counter to stand by Dean’s side. He immediately reached for the other man’s hand squeezing it as their fingers intertwined. As if Dean had read his mind, he turned along with Cas, and the two took a step toward the door, quietly leaving the shop hand in hand.

At that moment, Castiel remembered what Gabe had told him. Although their relationship might not be perfect- far from it, actually- they cared about each other.  And wasn’t that what really mattered? A life spent with Dean Winchester by his side certainly qualified as a life worth living. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

* * *

 

Meanwhile, Sam Winchester and his two unlikely allies were taking care of some… unfinished business at Souix Falls University. Some unfinished business with a certain Benny Lafitte, to be exact.

“Wait, _what_?” Benny growled, taking a step back. The women weren’t any taller than him, but, with the towering figure of Sam standing between them, they seemed to gain a couple extra inches and were doing a pretty good job of intimidating their pathetic victim.

The trio had cornered him on the football field. They’d waltzed out onto the field as if they owned it, and, in the middle of a casual game, the two girls grabbed Benny’s arms, dragging him forcefully to the sidelines. Sam had volunteered to do the heavy lifting, but his helpers refused to let him. They wanted to be the ones to rough Benny up if need be. And that was even after Sam had explained his distaste for violence and why using such tactics only meant they were stooping to his level.

“The dean had a conversation with our good friend Sam here”- Charlie gestured at the lanky man between them- “and we took it upon ourselves to tell you what decision they came to.”

Benny was an idiot, sure, but he wasn’t _that_ stupid. He knew the many punishments he could be given for what he’d done to Castiel. Violence didn’t go over well on any college campus. The dean must’ve been furious, and, if he recalled correctly, Sam was not only Dean’s brother but also a lawyer. And a successful one, too.

“You’re not permitted on this campus anymore,” Sam explained. He kept his voice surprisingly calm. It unnerved Benny. How could he possibly be this content when the man who’d crushed his brother’s heart was standing right there in front of him? He had quite the advantage when it came to height and strength; he could easily take a swing at Benny and cause some serious damage.

“Whatever, it’s not like I care anyway.” Benny hoped that the comment sounded as indifferent as he meant for it to and puffed out his chest. Even though it was an act, he honestly didn’t care whether he could step foot on the campus grounds again or not. There were other places he could go. Plus, he didn’t attend Sioux Falls University to begin with. He was only there on a visit.

“Oh, really?” the girl his buddies had called Jo piped up. She pushed up her sleeves and cracked her neck, taking a step or two closer. “Then you won’t mind if I-“

“Jo,” Sam warned. He reached out and quietly pulled Jo’s sleeves back down, rolling his eyes. Jo held Benny’s gaze throughout it all, though, and held her ground, digging the heels of her Ked’s into the soil. Benny had to admit, he liked it when girls were feisty like that.

“Yeah, _Sam_ , you need to keep that bitch on a leash,” Benny jeered, pointing an accusing finger at Jo. The blonde’s eyes widened, and she immediately resumed her fighting stance. The other girl- the snarky redhead- gritted her teeth and stepped closer, a murderous look in her eyes. He hadn’t even been referring to her, but with that kind of reaction, he probably should’ve included her after all.

His lips curled up into a triumphant smirk. As usual, he’d won. He always managed to come out on to-

A fist larger than his own came crashing into his jaw and sent him sprawling backwards, falling flat on his ass in the grass. His head hit the ground with a sickening _smack_ , and his entire facial structure felt like it’d been jostled out of place. Dots and stars clouded his vision. His hands rose to cover his face, to try and return his eyesight back to normal or relieve the pain in his jaw or, _fuck_ , do something to make the situation better.

Sam Winchester, the man who’d preached nonviolence and kept Jo and Charlie in check throughout the entirety of the exchange, had smashed his fist into Benny’s face.

Surprised, Sam brought the fist up to his face, peering at the clenched fingers in wonder. He’d never hit someone before. But when Benny had made the last comment, a rude and completely unnecessary dig at Jo, his mind had gone blank. The first thing he’d thought to do was move- to give the bastard a piece of his mind.

“Damn, you’ve got one hell of a left hook there, Sammy,” Charlie teased, jabbing her elbow into Sam’s side.

“Yeah, remind me never to piss you off,” Jo agreed and mimicked Charlie’s playful shove. The two sidled closer and clapped Sam on the back. His lips twisted into a hesitant little smile. He certainly didn’t believe the whole concept of violence as a solution, but, goddamn, it’d felt good to punch the son of a bitch.

They turned as a group and didn’t spare a single glance in the direction of the monster writhing around in the grass behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I hope everyone enjoyed this! Remember that you can give me ideas for the epilogue if you'd like. I already have a general plan for it, but input's always nice!


	25. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sap for a happy ending, and I'm not sorry about that at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD I CAN'T BELIEVE IT- this is it. The _last_ chapter. 
> 
> Before I give any warnings, I want to thank all of you again for taking the time to read this. I certainly never expected this many people to like it. And I really hope that my new twist on the sickening fluffy coffee shop AU genre worked well for everyone. I said it in the last chapter, but I want to reiterate: **I appreciate every comment/kudo/bookmark I've received**. I probably don't deserve all of it, but, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. Even as I finish up "The Nicest Thing" and start working on the flood of anime fanfiction I intend to post, I hope that you all will stick around with me. Even if you don't, though, I'm glad that you've enjoyed one thing I've written. Please feel free to continue commenting and such! I appreciate the feedback and kind words! Also, for the next couple days, I'll be going back through the fic to catch any last mistakes. So keep that in mind!
> 
> Anyway, warnings. There's some **sexy times** and **explicit language** , but this fic is rated E so that's expected. Other than that, remember to tag any tumblr posts with "fic: ihtu" and to come chat with me on [tumblr](http://skyestiel.tumblr.com) and/or [twitter](http://twitter.com/nezumistiel) whenever you'd like!

Castiel wasn't a cynic. Really, he wasn't. It's just that Christmas time had never served as the flashy, fantastic holiday season most people made it out to be. In his humble opinion, at least.

The crowds crammed into shopping malls across the country made his skin crawl, and painful memories resurfaced, of stuffing himself into a suit, the Novak's prim and proper scholar, parading around family friends. Around Christmas, Castiel could've walked into any room in his house and found relatives yelling and ranting, stomping around without any concern for those that hoped to find some solace during the chaotic holiday season.

Other than the fragrant aromas of home-cooked meals and pine needles, Castiel’s memories of Christmas back at home weren’t all that fond. His parents showered him with gifts, and the remaining members of his surprisingly tight-knit family spent their stay fawning over him. Little did they know that the object of their affections hated the attention and wanted nothing more than to stay holed up in his room throughout the entirety of their week-long visit.

So, Cas’s past experiences made him a little bitter about the whole celebration. And, worse yet, he had other things on his mind this year. For the past several nights, he couldn’t keep thoughts of spittle, blood, and fists out of his head.

Castiel hadn’t worked up the courage to tell Dean about the recurring nightmare that had been plaguing his dreams ever since “the incident”- as everyone called it- had occurred. In the beginning, it was only quick flashes of horrific images, pieced together like a slideshow presentation straight from the depths of hell. They were disturbing but didn’t wake him in the middle of the night, frantic and sweating, desperate for something to cling to; that wasn't until later.

Dean tried his best to calm him down when his eyes flew open and his limbs began to flail wildly, nearly smashing into his slumbering companion's jaw or, worse, his bleary, half-lidded eyes. He whispered soothing words against Castiel’s hair, against his temple, anywhere his lips could reach, and drew his shaking body in close, arms wrapped securely around his waist. The warmth and comfort of Dean’s embrace usually helped. All tremors and shakes halted the second Dean touched him.

The first night it happened, Cas wasn't surprised when Dean asked what was wrong. He swore that it was merely a nightmare, that it wasn’t all that uncommon for him, but Dean detected the lie before he even finished his piss-poor explanation. To Castiel’s delight, though, he simply sighed and buried his face in Cas’s hair, muttering a frustrated, “whatever you say” before drifting off to sleep.

Of course, Cas never could fall back asleep. He couldn’t take his mind off the stifling guilt weighing down on his conscious. He and Dean had agreed to be completely honest with each other, and there he was, lying to him, as if the extensive conversation they’d had the day after reuniting meant nothing.

What would he say, though? That Benny had done more damage than he’d let on? Dean had other things on his mind and definitely didn’t need to tackle Castiel’s petty issues along with everything else.

“You okay?”

Castiel startled, nearly tipping off the edge of Dean’s couch and onto the floor. The other man’s arms tightened and pulled him against his side, fingers curling possessively around his midsection.

“Y-yeah!” Cas cried, flashing Dean the best fake smile that he could muster at such short notice. But, as usual, Dean saw right through it.

“Hm,” he huffed. The calloused pads of his fingers pressed into the exposed patch of skin near Castiel’s hip, lightly brushing the jut of his hipbone.

“What?”

“I just said ‘hm’, that’s all.”

“You don’t believe me,” Cas mumbled. Embarrassed, he sidled closer to Dean and rested his head on the other man’s shoulder. “I’m not stupid, Dean, I know what ‘hm’ means.”

“I’m not stupid either,” Dean fired back.

Castiel’s eyes widened. He glanced up at Dean, surprised by the flicker of frustration in his gaze. Ever since Dean had taken it upon himself to steer clear of the liquor cabinet, the flickering flame of anger within him took a considerable amount of pushing and prodding to ignite.

“Dean…”

“I’m serious, Cas, what’s wrong with you lately?” Castiel caught the exasperated lilt underlying the question. His eyes flickered down to the ridiculous reindeer sweater Dean wore, focusing on an errant thread, the kind that would drive him nuts until he retrieved a pair of scissors and snipped it off.

“Listen, Dean, I- shit. I can't do this. You want… you want to know about the nightmares,” Cas muttered, swallowing the sudden lump wedged in his throat, “Right?”

Although he’d been the one to bring the issue up in the first place, Dean hesitated. Cas watched the flickering lights of the Christmas tree, the dazzling display of red, blue, purple, and yellow reflected in Dean's forest green eyes. The fingers rubbing Castiel’s skin stopped and crept over to rest right above the waistband of his jeans. Socked feet brushed against Cas’s, and the delicious smell of hot chocolate and baking cookies filled the air.

“It’s Benny, isn’t it?” Dean finally asked, a slight waver in his voice.

“What if I told you it was? What would you think of me?”

“Of  _you_?” Dean’s attention turned from the towering tree in the center of the room, decked out in glistening garlands, an assortment of ornaments, and twinklings lights, to Castiel’s forlorn expression. “What the- Cas, it’s only human to still be stuck on that. That’s a traumatic experience! It’s not every day that someone tries to beat the shit out of you, for Christ’s sake!”

Cas huffed and buried his face in Dean’s sweater, cringing as the scratchy wool tickled his nose and cheeks. “It’s been a couple weeks since it happened,” he murmured, “I should be over it by now.”

“So what if you’re not? I’m here to help, you know. Kinda comes with the whole ‘considerate boyfriend’ thing,” Dean replied. He brought his hand up to the top of Castiel’s head, slowly carding his fingers through his hair. Unable to stop himself, Cas burrowed his face in the thick, wooly reindeer antlers of Dean's sweater and sighed contently, savoring the gentle touch and the tingling sensation brought on by the light scratch of fingernails against his scalp.

“But that’s not something you should worry about. It’s my problem- I should be the one to deal with it.”

“I know I’ve said it before, but, Cas, you’ve  _got_  to start letting people in,” Dean pleaded, dragging his fingertips down to the nape of Castiel’s neck, resting his hand there.

“Same goes for you,” Castiel muttered.

Dean’s chest rose and fell as he let out a little chuckle, jostling Castiel's rested head around. The deep rumbling sound permeated through Cas's skin, a powerful tremor he felt in his bones. “Yeah, yeah, that goes without saying. But I’m getting better.”

“Eh, I guess,” Cas sighed, purposely dragging out the s’s.

“No, no guessing- you  _know_  I am. So now it’s your turn.”

“But you already figured it out,” Cas insisted, “I’m having nightmares about… Benny.”

“Yeah, well, from this point forward, you have to tell me if something’s bothering you. Especially if it’s affecting your health, dammit.” Dean shifted forward, carefully coaxing Castiel’s head away from his chest. He reached out and tipped Cas’s chin up, fixing him with a concerned stare, genuine concern that made Castiel shiver for reasons completely unrelated to the approaching chill of Winter.

“If anything's on your mind- and I mean  _anything_ \- you come to me,” Dean soothed. Cas had never heard him use that tone before, equal parts commanding and soothing, a melodic quality to it that he hadn't realized Dean was capable of.

“You’ll probably regret saying that in the future,” Castiel teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

Dean regarded Cas with the kind of fond admiration that would likely make Gabe break out into a fit of coughing and gagging noises. The lights from the tree continued to reflect off his eyes, and the scent of nutmeg and chocolate wafted from his sweater, an intoxicating aroma Castiel surprisingly hadn’t noticed until now. Moving slowly, at an agonizingly glacial pace, Dean inched closer, flicking his gaze between Cas’s wide eyes and his lips, slightly parted in anticipation.

“I like that,” Dean whispered, breath ghosting across Castiel’s skin, “you said 'in the future'. You know I plan on sticking around.”

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Cas’s voice lowered, mimicking Dean’s.

“That’s pretty presumptuous of you…”

Castiel rolled his eyes and, catching the mischievous glint in Dean’s eyes, snaked his arms around the other man’s neck. “Oh?”

“Yeah…” At this point, their faces were close enough for Cas to breathe in the husky response, Dean's intake of breath, as if it were his own. He swallowed the single word, waiting eagerly for Dean to lean in the final couple centimeters and just fucking get  _on_  with it already. He ached for the heady sensation, the electricity that started where his lips touched and, slowly, coursed its way through his body.

When their lips met, Castiel surged into the kiss, burying his fingers in Dean’s hair, pulling him closer. He cataloged every content sigh and surprised moan he drew from the back of Dean’s throat, savoring the slick slide of tongues curling against each other, prodding and exploring mouths. Eager to try something new, he captured Dean’s tongue and sucked it lightly, eliciting the most incredible sound of delight in response.

To Castiel’s dismay, Dean leaned away. He looked positively wrecked, hair sticking up in every direction, lips swollen and red, pupils dilated. But Cas only had a few moments to take pride in his accomplishment.

“Upstairs,” Dean croaked, shakily climbing to his feet.

Although he'd managed to sink into the comfortable leather cushions over the course of their discussion, Castiel jumped off the couch, frantically grasping Dean’s offered hand. The two darted out of the living room, taking the time to slow down as they passed the kitchen where Sam and Gabe were hard at work, and quickly climbed the stairs.

And, oddly enough, as they sprinted up the steps, giggling excitedly the entire way, Cas felt like a kid again.

 

* * *

 

“These aren’t the same cookies you serve in the shop, are they?” Sam asked, eying the rows of gingerbread cookies curiously.

Gabe wiped his hands off, leaving behind streaks of white flour on his favorite apron, a bright red one with “Kiss The Cook… If You Dare” scrawled across the chest where his boobs would be if he had any. He turned to face Sam. The traffic cone orange apron (“Hot Stuff Coming Through”) looked awfully funny on his towering figure.

“Nah, these are my ‘special’ cookies,” Gabe answered, strutting across the kitchen to stand by Sam’s side. He peered down at the faceless gingerbread men, thrilled to see that they turned out well.

“’Special’? Oh God, there's got to be drugs or something in them.”

“Yes, Sam, I slipped some weed into our Christmas cookies.”

“Sick bastard…”

“I’m kidding, geez,” Gabe chuckled, patting Sam on the back. A small smile tugged at his lips, but, even after the reassuring comment, he didn’t seem all that convinced. “So is the dynamic duo still coming over later?”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah, last time I checked. They said they hadn't finished wrapping presents yet.”

“Hm, makes sense,” Gabe agreed.

Sam lifted the tray of freshly baked cookies and rested it on the island in the middle of the kitchen. He carefully moved the cookies over to the cooling rack, arranging them in neat rows of three, making sure that he left enough space between each one. Gabe quietly watched him, caught up in the almost reverent way he handled them.

“You seem like you know what you’re doing, Sammy,” Gabe scoffed, entranced.

“I wasn’t kidding when I told you that I spend a lot of time in an apron.”

“You know me- my mind was somewhere  _completely_  different when you told me that,” Gabe replied, leaning his back against the cool marble counter behind him. The bag of gumdrops sat a few inches away, and he simply couldn’t resist. He plucked a green and red one and plopped the larger of the two into his mouth, chewing it slowly to savor the delicious flavor.

“Should’ve known,” Sam sighed. He set the spatula down next to the cooling rack, now filled with rows of undecorated gingerbread men. Although the garish snowman sweater and apron made it difficult to see Sam’s shoulder blades, at least not as easily as when he wore one of his usual v-necks, Gabe caught the slight movement, the way he visibly tensed. “Gabriel?”

Gabe's mouth suddenly felt dry, and his brain seemed to have short-circuited, caught on a single thought:  _Run_.

But he didn’t move. He held his ground and waited, waited like he’d done many times before, waited for the imminent impact. The man who prided himself on intuition and the ability to crack people open like books, flipping casually through the pages of their life story as if it were mere child's play, found Sam Winchester to be his greatest challenge.

“Yeah?” A noncommittal response; nothing that gave away what he was really feeling.

“I’m sorry.”

Dead silence fell over the room. Gabe searched for some kind of response and settled on, “For what?”

“Everything? I mean, what I did to you… I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for doing that.” Sam turned his head, unintentionally giving Gabe a striking view of his profile. The slope of his nose, the couple pieces of hair tucked behind his ear, the jut of his chin and curvature of his lips. “You’re a better man than me.”

That got Gabe’s attention. “Huh? What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know if I would've been able to forgive someone for treating me that way. But, here you are, willing to give me a second chance,” Sam replied wistfully, “I’m… I’m lucky to have a friend like you.”

Sam had offered him an opening. Gabe could take one of two routes. On one hand, he could say something equally profound, something heartfelt that would likely stick with Sam for the rest of his life. There were words waiting to be stringed together that fit that description. Yes, they would require a great deal of courage and trust on Gabe’s part. And, yes, at this point, he might as well take that kind of leap.

Then, there was the other route. A far easier and less stressful route: the escape hatch. Instead of carrying on a serious conversation, he could switch gears and steer it back in the direction of “inappropriate, ridiculous, and teasing” he was used to. Those situations felt comfortable to him. That’s where he thrived- not the heated quarrels between lovers that frequented his television screen. Besides, he and Sam weren’t lovers. Why fight like them?

“Wow, sentimental little Sammy sure has grown up,” Gabe teased. The jest felt strange on his lips, leaving behind a sour taste, and yet he knew that he’d said the right thing. Maybe it didn’t seem that way now, but, later, the logic behind his choice of words would become crystal clear. That’s how it always worked, at least.

“Eh, yeah, I guess so,” Sam chuckled. His head swiveled around, hazel eyes fixing on Gabe’s. They quickly scoured his face, searching for the pain he knew lied beneath the weak joke, and hesitantly came to rest on Gabe’s honey golden eyes. “But, seriously… thank you.”

“Oh God, for  _what_?” He tried to sound frustrated, but the attempt seemed to fall flat, even to him.

“For forgiving me. All that ‘sentimental’ bullshit you can’t stand,” Sam teased, and, just like that, the tension lifted off of Gabe’s shoulders.

It baffled him, Sam’s impeccable ability to diffuse a topic when it turned into a ticking time bomb, ready to burst at any moment. He’d always been such a fantastic mediator. For as long he’d known Sam, he watched in fascination as he tackled arguments like they were second nature to him, the closet negotiator who, without fail, managed to smooth things over. He probably developed the technique after his years as a lawyer. Or… had he been capable of it long before his law school days? Was it some inborn skill that Gabe could only dream of having? Possibly. The idea, romantic as it may be, fit Sam quite well.

“Pfft, yeah,” Gabe replied. He pushed off from the counter and joined Sam, peering down at the tray of unfinished cookies. Hesitantly, he glanced up into Sam’s eyes, still a little frightened of what he might see. To his relief, everything about his expression exuded a contentedness. Lips set in a small smile, a cheerful glint in his eyes, forehead smooth and without a single wrinkle. “It’s all bullshit,” he finished softly.

Sam nodded in agreement. “Yeah,” he agreed, curt and surprisingly vague.

The uncomfortable itch from earlier crept its way back into Gabe’s system.  _Nope, not happening_ , Gabe decided. Determined to fix things, he jabbed his elbow into Sam’s side and quickly darted away from the retaliation he knew was coming his way.

“Just grab the icing and gumdrops, you little shit,” Sam commanded, arms crossed and lips pursed, “these creepy ass gingerbread men aren’t going to dress themselves.”

And the warmth came back, full force and completely unrelated to the oven or overhead lights. Sam Winchester, the real Sam, could light up in an entire room when he wanted to.

_He’s the fucking Sun trapped in a human body._

Another person, another satellite, might come along and begin its orbit around Sam's brilliantly glowing aura. Gabe had learned that the sheer force of his magnetic personality couldn't be harnessed, but he'd also learned to accept it. He could now say with certainty that, no matter what came their way, he would be alright.  _They_  would be alright.

 

* * *

 

The sweaters were tossed carelessly to the side the second Dean and Castiel slammed the door shut behind them, adding a little mess to the pristine floor of Dean's bedroom.

The last time Castiel had been here, the cleanliness of the room was the last thing he'd cared about. And he still didn’t give a damn about whether it was messy or not. Dean's only concern was steering Cas toward the bed, gently urging him along, carefully lowering his head onto the plush stack of pillows near the headboard.

If there’s one thing Cas remembered from his last visit, it was the gentle way Dean handled him. He treated him like a fragile object that might break at any moment, but, at the same time, there was an underlying fierceness that excited Cas, luring him out of his comfort zone.

Dean’s hands hovered over Castiel’s sides, fingers pressing into the soft flesh. The lamp sitting on the bedside table painted everything in a soft, intimate light. His eyes had darkened and, looking down on Castiel’s sparsely clothed body beneath him, his tongue swiped across his lips. Cas wanted to reach out and cup Dean’s face, wanted to brush his thumbs across the bags underneath his eyes in hopes of swiping them away. Something about the electricity between them gave Castiel the courage to raise his hands and smooth his fingertips over Dean's cheekbones.

But there was something he couldn’t get off his mind.

“Dean?” Cas managed to murmur as Dean’s lips slipped between his, languidly, as if he had all the time in the world to kiss him.

“Hm?” He hummed the single word into Castiel’s parted lips, noses bumping together as he leaned back ever so slightly.

“What… you said…” A sigh slipped out of his mouth, swallowed immediately by Dean as the warm tip of his tongue swiped lazily across Castiel’s bottom lip. “Before… leaving the… h-hospital.”

“Hm,” Dean repeated. Cas gasped loudly, surprised by the fingers playing idly with his nipples, twisting and turning, a sudden surge of pleasure coursing through his veins.

“Did… Oh!” His back arched off of the bed, and he struggled to restrain himself, fighting back the urge to let the whole thing go and focus instead on his hardening nipples and the hand that, somehow, had reached the zipper of his pants.

“Dean,  _please_ ,” he begged, although he secretly wanted nothing more than to let Dean continue, “this is… important!”

Reluctantly, Dean’s hands stilled, but he didn’t pull them back. He huffed and leaned away, kneeling at Castiel's feet, offering a spectacular view of his chest where a thin sheen of sweat, barely noticeable, covered his skin. Cas's fingers itched to trace over his torso, to map out the contours of his abdomen, to smooth over his hipbones and down his pelvis until they reached-  _anyway_ , he had serious issues to tackle right now that didn’t involve Dean’s musculature.

“How important?”

“Important enough.” Castiel focused his gaze on the wall behind Dean since he couldn’t seem to think straight when he stared too long at anything concerning the other man’s state of undress.

“Okay, fine,” Dean sighed, carding his fingers through the hair Cas had spent the past few minutes mussing with wandering hands, “go ahead.”

“I- um.” Now that Dean had offered him an opening, rapt fascination in his hooded stare, Castiel’s confidence dissipated. God, he had the worst timing sometimes. “Did you mean it? That you, er… l-love me?”

The confident disposition Dean usually adopted in the bedroom, and, for the most part, out in the public eye flew out the window. He looked more vulnerable than Cas had ever seen before, fingers twitching against Castiel’s bare skin, eyes flitting nervously around the room. It might’ve been the low lighting, but Cas could’ve sworn that Dean was blushing.

“You heard that, huh?” Dean mumbled, still refusing to make eye contact.

Cas fired back a question of his own. “Did you not want me to?”

“No, I- dammit, Cas, that’s not what I meant.” It was weird, experiencing a flustered Dean. “What I mean… fuck, I’m not good at this.”

“Just like your brother,” Castiel offered up, hoping that the playful dig at Dean’s equally dense brother would lighten the mood.

“Yeah, unfortunately.”

The hand at Cas’s waist tightened its hold on the zipper pull, while the other drifted away from the nipples they’d spent a great deal of time tweaking and twisting. It almost felt as if Dean were trembling.

“I… I meant it, though,” Dean finally admitted. He had yet to meet Castiel’s imploring gaze, but, nevertheless, the confession packed a real punch. Honesty, evident in every croaked syllable, every word, relayed in a reverent, secretive way.

“You… you really love me?” Castiel didn’t want to get his hopes up. There was absolutely no way he’d go through the same agonizing period of being kept in the dark that he’d already endured. His heart swelled hopefully in his chest, pulse quickening.

“Of course I do,” Dean whispered, regarding Castiel with the tenderest smile he’d ever found himself on the receiving end of.

“How-“

“No, no, we’re not doing that again.” The fingers resting on Castiel’s zipper resumed their earlier mission, tugging down until they reached the final couple teeth, revealing the pewter blue boxers beneath.

“Dean-“

“Cas,” Dean whined mockingly in return.

Frustrated, Castiel crossed his arms, fixing Dean with what he hoped to be a cool, intimidating leer. Which, in this situation, turned out looking about as cool as a stroll across the Sun's fiery surface. Dean saw right through the pathetic gesture, trailing his hands up to the waistband of Castiel’s jeans, eager to tug the stupid things off once and for all.

“Dammit,  _Dean_ -“

“Okay, let’s just settle this now,” Dean sighed melodramatically, rolling his eyes like the closet diva he apparently was, “I’m an idiot for loving you, and you’re an idiot for loving me. Good?”

Cas blanched. It wasn’t uncommon for him to be so blasé, but this… this was crazy. How could he be this blunt, infuriatingly straight to the point, about something as poignant and monumental as love? “Wh- you son of a- how…”

Castiel didn’t have an argument ready. Instead, he just lay there, slack-jawed and at a loss for words. Dean must’ve noticed because he mumbled a quick, “yep, that’s what I thought,” and leaned in, reclaiming Cas’s swollen lips with a new found vigor.

The exchange lit a flame deep inside Castiel’s chest, dragging out the excitement he’d been forced to keep hidden for the past few weeks. Invigorating and overpowering, the need to reach out and have Dean closer, to memorize each little detail before it slipped away, washed over him like the monstrous swell of a tidal wave.

Castiel had always been wary of intimacy. The idea of giving yourself over to someone so completely frightened him. How could you tell whether a person would abuse that privilege? Who would stay through the morning? Who would leave?

He’d made a lot of unfair judgments in the past. The concept of sharing your body with another person didn’t really appeal to him. It was an invasion, another entity encroaching on his precious personal space. But Dean had changed all of that.

Sure, it hadn’t happened right away. A preconceived notion like that didn’t just disappear overnight. And, after many years of physically distancing himself from others, Cas took a considerable amount of convincing before he opened up.

That’s why he let Dean in. He never overstepped his boundaries, never pushed too hard or asked for too much. He listened to Castiel, even when he didn’t vocalize his fears or anxieties. With a single glance, he knew to stop what he was doing. It had kept them from going… well, he would never refer to it as such in front of Dean, but, going “all the way.”

The term sounded ridiculous and juvenile, which is why Castiel hadn’t brought it up. He hadn’t had reason to either considering the fact that they hadn’t been together sexually for days- far too long, in Cas’s opinon.

But, here and now, with Dean there in his embrace again, he felt something shift, the proverbial switch inside his head flicking on. He could do this; Dean would take care of him. Wasn’t that clear by now?

“D-Dean,” Cas panted. His jeans were long gone by this point, a jumbled mess beside Dean’s discarded pants near the foot of the bed. His erection pressed painfully against the constraints of his boxers, begging to be released, but Castiel chose to ignore it as best he could. Thankfully, Dean was in the same boat, if the tent in his boxers was anything to go by. “I… I’m ready.”

“Obviously,” Dean snorted, bending his head low, nuzzling against the strained fabric at the front of Castiel’s boxers. The similarity between Dean and a kitten briefly crossed Cas’s mind before he quickly shook it off, disturbed by the mental image.

“No, I… I’m ready for- you know,” Cas finished weakly. Dean hands trailed up and down Castiel's bare legs, tracing patterns along his calves, down to his ankles, across the tops of his feet. Yeah, as if it weren’t difficult enough trying to form words with Dean’s warm, wet mouth teasing him through his boxers. “For  _it_.”

“You can’t even say it,” Dean chuckled, eliciting a full body shiver from the quivering puddle of a man beneath him, peering back with dark, dilated eyes. Castiel’s back arched, lips parting in a wordless moan, fingers clenching in the sheets, desperate for something to cling to as he succumbed to the intoxicating sensations flooding his system.

“I don’t need to, you dick,” Cas grumbled. But Dean didn’t pay him a single bit of attention. His fingers danced over the waistband of Castiel's boxers, inching them lower and lower until the head of his cock was showing. Cas couldn’t look away, entranced by the careful way he drew the garment down, gazing up into dazed blue eyes from beneath golden brown lashes, cocky as ever.  _Ha,_ cock _-y_ , Castiel thought and immediately wished he could mute his brain for rest of the night.

“I’m just kidding.” Dean crawled forward until his face was directly above Castiel’s erection once again, flushed and heavy against the other man’s twitching abdominal muscles. Dean watched for several heated seconds before licking up the length, flicking the slit with his tongue. Cas's toes curled, a squeak- nothing sexy, just a goddamned  _squeak_ \- slipping out before he could seal his lips shut.

“What do you want?” Dean drew his mouth back, murmuring the question into Castiel’s inner thigh, eyelashes tickling the sensitive skin. “Tell me.”

“ _Dean_.” Castiel hated pleading, but he really didn’t have any idea how to be sexy or talk dirty or anything that he probably should be capable of doing by this point in his pathetically virginal life.

“Fine, fine,” Dean laughed, “I get it.”

“So you won’t…?”

“No,  _you_  won’t,” Dean explained, “I’ll do all the talking.”

“Oh.” Cas didn’t know what to say to that.

“So, Cas.” Dean sucked experimentally on the head of Castiel’s cock, fingers wrapped loosely around the base. The still unfamiliar warmth of an oncoming orgasm sparked somewhere deep within the pit of his stomach, building steadily. “Do you want me inside of you?”

Castiel tried to respond, to tell Dean that he wanted that more than anything, but a whimper bubbled up on his quivering lips instead. The sound seemed to encourage Dean, though, as he eagerly took all of Cas inside his mouth, cheeks hollowing out as he sucked, sucked all of the sense out of Castiel’s already frazzled mind, pumping Cas with strong, sure motions. Panting heavily, Cas squirmed as sweat dripped down the planes of his bare chest, gathering in the hollow of his collarbone, a normally uncomfortable combination of sensations that were quickly turning his body into a livewire, taut, on the brink of snapping at any moment.

“F-For now,” he gasped, burying his fingers in Dean’s hair. He pressed, urging Dean to take more, to take all of him. Always eager to please, he understood and swallowed until Castiel felt a moist heat pressing in from every angle.

With a slick  _pop_ , Dean reluctantly let Castiel’s cock drop back down to his stomach. Cas could’ve sworn he saw Dean mouth the word “beautiful,” but his every thought was clouded by lust at this point, and he'd lost the ability to decipher reality from hallucinations. “What does that mean?” Dean wondered, resting his head casually on the bed between Cas’s spread legs.

“That… maybe one day I can-“ Castiel hesitated. But, no, he could say this. He didn’t want Dean to do all the work. “I can be inside of you.”

Dean’s eyes were dinner plates, wide enough to pop right out of his skull. His pupils seemed to dilate even more, if at all possible, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. Maybe he’d said something wrong. He’d thought that using Dean as a reference was the best tactic, but now, based on the dumbstruck expression on his unwilling mentor’s face, he couldn’t help but question his decision.

“Sorry, that was, wow, I probably sounded stupid, saying something like  _hmmph_.”

Dean’s kisses were hungrier than earlier, sucking Castiel’s tongue into his mouth like he couldn’t get enough, drawing some of the most pathetic sounds from Cas’s gasping mouth. The lack of oxygen left Castiel feeling a little lightheaded, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, what with the slick slide of Dean’s tongue, exploring every available inch of the inside of his mouth. Unwilling to let him take control, Cas tugged at Dean’s bottom lip, giving it a quick nip before diving back in and capturing the startled moan Dean uttered, relishing the contact as he surged against him.

“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Dean panted, pulling away. Cas chased after at first until he realized just what he meant by the comment.

Dean sat back, and, to Castiel’s dismay, didn’t ask for help when he slid the red plaid boxers down his legs and kicked them off. They joined Cas’s at the foot of the bed.

He’d forgotten how big Dean was, and, considering his lack of experience in the sex department, gaped openly at the sight of his cock, catching a glimpse of flushed crimson skin in the darkness. It reminded him that he couldn't wait for Dean to be inside of him and yet made him anxious, maybe a little afraid, at the same time.

Porn had never really been his thing, but he’d heard classmates discuss the matter of- he cringed as he thought the word- anal sex since high school. College students broached the subject more often, and Castiel, even at his age, wasn’t exactly comfortable discussing it. They made it sound awkward, sometimes painful. And, logically speaking, it made sense. Having an eight or nine-inch long thing shoved up his ass would probably hurt like hell.

As if sensing Castiel’s concerns, Dean pressed a quick kiss to his temple before leaning over to fish the lube out of the bedside table. He squirted a liberal amount into his palms and rubbed them together. Leave it to Dean to make sure he actually heated the lube first.

Cas watched, completely silent, as Dean made sure to coat his fingers. Once satisfied, he made an adorable-  _yes, adorable, shut up_ \- little sound of contentment and hunched over, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s thighs. He used the new position to draw Cas closer, moving him gently into place.

He allowed Dean to shift his hips around, pushing his legs farther apart. Trust was key in a situation like this. If he didn’t have complete faith in Dean, that he would know what to do and when to do it, then his body would tense and certain  _things_ wouldn't work. And he did have faith in Dean; he wouldn’t hurt him, not if he could help it.

The cool press of fingers against his entrance caught him off guard, though, and he distinctly felt his body clench around the digit inside of him. Dean didn’t seem to mind. A string of incoherent praise, mumbled words of encouragement, streamed past his parted lips. He worked slowly and carefully, in and out, until he managed to push in up to his knuckle. It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t feel especially good either.

But Castiel's traitorous body took no notice of the ache. At this rate, Cas would finish long before Dean was inside of him, and he couldn’t have that. Desperate, he pushed back against Dean’s finger, silently begging him for more.

Thankfully, before Castiel could ask, a second finger slipped in alongside the first one. He moaned, writhing helplessly, digging his toes into the sheets. He’d lost the ability to control his movements, surrendering to the primal instincts he usually avoided.

Dean continued to stretch him out, scissoring, pushing, pulling, and added a third finger when Cas cried out his name, followed by a pathetic demand for another. Three fingers were probably comparable to the real thing, which, unfortunately, remained hidden at the moment, pressed into the mattress. As Dean worked, his hips adopted the same rhythm as his fingers, rocking in time to each careful drag.

Then, as he pulled out for what felt like the hundredth time, he crooked his fingers and struck the spot Castiel vaguely remembered hearing about when a group of guys were talking just a little too loud during class, and, well, Cas could be nosy when he wanted to be. A burst of pleasure unlike anything he’d ever experienced rocked through his body, and he let out a moan, probably the loudest yet.

“There we go,” Dean mumbled, pressing his lips briefly to Castiel’s inner thigh. He resumed his incoherent praise and pushed his fingers in and out a few more times before retracting them completely.

Cas must’ve looked like an absolute  _wreck_. His face felt like it was on fire, and his entire body was trembling, erratic twitching from head to toe. He couldn’t keep his mouth shut, couldn’t stop the keens and whimpers from spilling out, and his brain had turned to mush, his thoughts a disorganized, jumbled mess inside his head.

Castiel's desire to be filled, to be taken apart, gave him the confidence he needed to plead for what he wanted. His entire being buzzed with anticipation, reduced to a puddle of incoherent cries and bated breath, squirming and shaking.  _Please, please,_ please, hungry pleas for Dean to continue, echoed in his head.

Dean proved his uncanny ability to read Castiel’s mind once again. His husky laughter and the rustling of sheets, insignificant little sounds, filled the charged air.

“Just relax,” Dean soothed, repeating one of the many things he’d panted against Cas’s skin. There was a tremulous quality to his voice as he spoke, breathy and thick with an emotion Castiel couldn’t quite identify. Excitement, maybe, or possibly a hint of fear, but he couldn’t be sure.

Castiel nodded his head, droplets of sweat trickling down his face. Usually the wet salty taste disgusted him, but something about it in this context heightened his anticipation. He was perspiring for reasons completely unrelated to the exertion he’d grown to detest. But this time, this particular kind of exertion, didn’t pose the threat it used to. If it were anyone else, he probably wouldn’t be content to lie back and give in. Dean was different, though. Being with him felt natural- like they were made for each other.

 _How cheesy_ , the remnants of Castiel’s shattered psyche scolded. He flushed in embarrassment.

Suddenly, he froze. All semblance of logic, of rationality and common sense, vanished in the blink of an eye, torn away by the press at Castiel’s entrance. Dean had dropped down onto his elbows, propped over Cas, the glistening planes of his torso within reach. Shaky fingers reached up, clamping onto Dean’s shoulders as he pushed in another inch.

This ache was worse than that of the dull flash of pain brought on by Dean’s fingers. As expected, the real deal dwarfed the three digits. He could feel his body protesting against the intrusion, struggling to free itself of the pressure, but Dean grabbed hold of the sheets below, clenched his eyes shut, and pressed on.

“R-relax,” Dean urged, “I’ve got you.”

And, despite his body's resistance, Castiel believed him wholeheartedly. His eyes fluttered shut, placing all of his trust in the man he knew without a doubt he loved. The pain worsened, though, as Dean buried his entire length inside of Cas’s quivering body. He could feel it pulsating, pushing deep, and he curled his legs around Dean’s waist, silently encouraging him to keep going, struggling to ignore the aching between his spread legs.

“Cas,” Dean whimpered, a broken cry ringing clear in the silence of the room, “are you okay?” He looked concerned, and Castiel realized that he must’ve made an agonized sound.

“Yes, y-you’re fine just  _move,_ ” Cas growled in frustration, growing impatient. His irrational desire to join together with Dean, in a new and exhilarating way, clouded his judgment, and, unexpectedly turned him into the domineering force he had trouble portraying outside of the bedroom.

Dean was long gone by this point and settled for a curt nod, obeying the command, slowly drawing out of Castiel. His cock dragged along Cas’s sensitive walls, and a dazzling display of light flashed before his closed eyes, painting the inside of his eyelids a striking combination of whites, reds, and yellows.

This time he heard his pathetic cry. But it wasn’t one of pain. No, the sensation flooding his body had nothing to do with pain.

“Dean,” he whimpered, a strangled plea, “just-“

“I’ve got you,” Dean repeated, a soft whisper, barely audible even in the heavy silence. Before Cas could ask what exactly he meant, Dean thrust back into him, a quick movement that slid Castiel a little further up the mattress, sending a pillow toppling to the floor.

“Oh!” A powerful wave of pleasure crashed over Castiel, pulling him under, a gasping, quivering pile of sweat-slick skin and clenching fingers.

“There, yeah,” Dean mumbled, more to himself than Cas, and shifted his hips back, pulling out faster than he had before.

Castiel was better prepared the second time. And the third, the fourth, and fifth. Dean built a surprisingly steady rhythm, in and out, hips rocking, shaking the mattress. Cas couldn’t stop the pathetic noises now, and he really didn’t want to. He could care less how he looked at that point; it wasn’t like Dean was faring any better.

He liked it this way. Confident, sometimes infuriatingly clever Dean, a complete mess, falling apart right before Castiel’s eyes. The soft skin coated with a thin sheen of sweat, just begging to be adored, to be traced by Cas’s trembling fingers. He wanted to preserve this moment in time and keep it tucked away, somewhere only he could find it.

Ravenous, Dean sealed their lips together, swallowing the surprised yet incredibly pleased gasp of joy as it left Castiel’s mouth. Their bare chests pressed together, slick and warm, and Dean’s hands had found their way to the back of Cas’s head, pulling lightly at the shorter hairs on the nape of his neck, a sensitive spot that only he knew existed. Castiel clumsily slipped his tongue into Dean’s mouth but allowed the other man to take control of the kiss. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he sometimes enjoyed being dominated by Dean.

The steady ebb and flow of Dean’s thrusts was becoming increasingly erratic, to the point where he could barely hold himself up. He released another whimper, mumbling Castiel’s name reverently, and shifted his attention to Cas’s neck, sucking a bit of skin between his teeth, likely to leave a mark behind. It wasn’t really kissing anymore so much as heavy breathing and quivering lips, switching between Castiel’s jawline, collarbone, and the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Dean sucked a bruise into his skin and then smoothed his tongue over the affected area, covering Cas in tiny purple splotches he’d likely have to explain to his nosy boss and even nosier friends the following day.

But there were more important things to worry about. Like the fact that the warmth pooling in his stomach was rapidly approaching its peak, and each frenzied push was mercilessly hitting the same spot repeatedly.

“I’m close,” Castiel managed to say, secretly hoping that Dean wouldn’t stop now that he’d told him.

Dean let out a sound that could only be described as a growl, a primal noise that reverberated against the hollow of Castiel’s collarbone. “Me too.”

The admission, coupled with an especially strong thrust at just the right angle, sent Cas toppling over the edge. His eyes clenched shut, his body shook, toes curled, grasping frantically onto Dean who, after uttering a breathy, “Cas,” tensed and came, buried deep in Castiel.

They clung to each other, ignoring the sticky mess on their chests. Cas’s heart pounded, panting against Dean’s neck, and savored the fact he, the inexperienced Castiel Novak, reduced him to  _this_.

For a few seconds, they didn’t say anything. It wasn’t until Dean carefully pulled out and rolled over, wrapping his arms around Castiel’s waist to draw his spent body flush against his still heaving chest, that someone spoke.

“Dean?”

“Hmm?” Dean buried his face in Castiel’s hair, fingers splayed across his lower abdomen.

A beat. “We should clean up.”

“You’ve got to be-“

“I’m just messing with you,” Cas replied, laughing softly.

This pause lasted longer and felt heavier, better suited to the weight of the words on the tip of Castiel’s tongue.

“Dean?”

“Hm?”

“I… I really do love you.”

The confession hung in the air between them. Castiel waited a few painstaking seconds, scared that he might’ve said the wrong thing, before Dean responded.

“Love you, too, Cas,” he murmured, nuzzling closer.

The corners of Cas’s mouth drew up into what he could only imagine was the most ridiculously goofy grin.

Okay so  _maybe_ choosing to work at a coffee shop wasn’t the best idea for a guy who loved coffee as much as Castiel. But what would his life be like if he hadn’t? Where would he be now if he hadn’t filled out that one, measly little two-page application?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!! Oh, and I purposely left Gabe and Sam's situation open-ended for anyone that wanted to see them together. In my eyes, they stay friends, but I've left it open to your interpretation. 
> 
> I don't know what else to say, but, um, thank you!


End file.
